EWAN’S BLOG 28th December 2016
SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS
EWAN'S SPOTTY ABOUT CHRISTMAS
Hi, Ewan here.
So that was Christmas!!!
I have now experienced two Christmases and so I now know what they are all about. That’s right, you can’t now tell me anything about Christmas. Christmas is all about illness.
Last Christmas (2015), my first, I had flu, a chest infection and was being sick. Great fun. But I was happy and positive through it all. I took it in my stride. I’m hard and tough, that way.
This Christmas (2016), my second, I have Chickenpox. I look like one of Mum’s Cath Kidston Button Spot Day Bags (Cranberry or Dark Red). Although thinking about it, that is white spots on a red background. My spots are red on a white background.
Then again I could be likened to Mr Tumble’s Spotty bag, except I’m not jaundiced, well I don’t think so, so my skin is white and not yellow and all the spots are red. Although I suppose a few are turning yellow and green now.
But does it phase me? No, I take it in my stride. I’m hard and tough, that way.
My Christmas week started with going to the pantomime at the Nottingham, Theatre Royal with Jack and the Beanstalk. Up until seeing that pantomime I had lived 16,070 hours (I am now taking on board real numbers) and enjoyed most of them. But the pantomime, for me, was a waste of two and a half of them. It was like watching over grandad and mamma on a bad day with the Chuckle Brothers’, “To me, to you” job and “Haloo!”
There was one good bit, though, where this baddy came on and it was scary and thunder crashed and the lights flashed and everyone “Booed”, I did enjoy that, and the chocolate…I enjoyed that, and there were so many lights, all LED. I enjoyed those. Oh and the cow. Yes there was a real cow in it. Grandad tried telling me it wasn’t he said there were two men inside a costume. Oh no it isn’t I told him. Grandad is always winding me up like that. He thinks it’s funny. Oh no it isn’t, grandad. But, yes, the cow was good.
Anyway if that cow was two men in a costume how come it had that bagpipe thing which dispenses milk, underneath? It just couldn’t unless it was real, right, proving it was real. And it was life size, and it said “moo”.
So, apart from the interesting bits I got over the boredom and Monday carried on the job I was made for, keeping the nursery staff employed.
But I had such a surprise. There was a “Stay & Play” afternoon at nursery. That means mums stay and play. No one told me! How embarrassing!
It was afternoon and I was relaxing after lunch, wearing a frilly red and black spotty ladybird dress, as I do. And my mum appeared. I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. What would she think? I just thank the Lord it was not grandad. So what do you do in such circumstances? Easy, just carry on as normal as if it is the most normal thing under the sun. It does not draw attention to it, under those circumstances. And I think I got away with it.
On Wednesday 23rd we went to see Santa, yes, again. This time it was on a steam train at Midland Railway, Butterley. I found it disappointing because it was not a real railway. I know so much about railways because I watch Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends on TV, everyday. Grandad and Mamma have lots and lots of books about him too. But these engines were boring with no faces.
But I loved the journey in the train. We then went to see Santa whilst the train was moving. I found it difficult to walk on the moving train. Grandad said I was drunk, but I thought you had to go to work Christmas party to get drunk. Santa was in a dark truck. I think it was a coal truck. And once again, he had forgotten who I was and what I wanted for Christmas. Give me strength!
He gave Brother Rory this amazing Lego fire engine. So, I was hopeful.
But no, I got a doggie, not just a doggie but a pink one. Now I don’t want to be sexist or politically incorrect, but I assure you pink is a girl’s colour. I have already shown you that I am more than capable of getting in touch with my feminine side, but a pink dog is taking it a step too far.
On 22nd it was Cousin Freya’s Birthday Party at Ed’s Barn, East Bridgford. An amazing party in the soft play area, as you would expect from Cousin Freya. The food was out of this world, so gourmet: pizza, chips, and jelly. I stuffed myself so much, they had to drag me away.
What was even better, no Santa! How did she manage to keep him out? Freya has so gone up in my estimations.
But then I got my special Christmas present, early. Chickenpox.
I think Santa had had felt tip pens for Christmas and crept in my room as I slept with the red one and put spots all over my face and body.
Christmas Eve was exciting, but not as exciting as it should have been. I should have been at Cousin Freya’s house celebrating her birthday. But she and her mum had a sickness bug and I had Chickenpox. But does it phase me? No, I take it in my stride. I’m hard and tough, that way.
We put out raw carrots and stuff for Santa and Rudolf to eat and drink. Fancy, Santa liking raw carrots. Bizarre.
I had a wager with Brother Rory. I said, “What’s the betting Santa wakes me and asks me what my name is and what I want?”
So I went to bed. I slept but woke at one point and heard something. I was ready for him. But he never showed up. I think the noise must have been dad going to the toilet.
Then in the morning Brother Rory was so excited because Santa had been. I was a little more reserved. As he had not woke me to check out who I was and what I wanted, so I was concerned he wouldn’t leave me the right presents. He may have left me mum’s presents, or even worse Mamma’s.
I was most surprised when I discovered he left me the right ones. But what’s the point of everyone sending them to him. Why doesn’t mum and dad just put them out for me. Cut out the middle man. What purpose does Santa serve. A simple waste of space.
You should have seen the mess Santa and Rudolf left in the kitchen with snowy footprints. The bit I can’t understand is where is the snow? I wanted snow and a snowman for Christmas.
Then came the last of my Christmas shocks. Because I had Chickenpox I was expected to look after Mamma and Grandad, of all days, Christmas Day. You would have thought I would have been given the day off, Christmas Day, especially as I was suffering with Chickenpox.
I came up with an amazing solution. I fell asleep on Grandad. High five! For that kept him out of mischief, until, that is, the telephone rang and disturbed him, which made me so distraught, because he was no longer peaceful.
But in the end it was worthwhile because due to the inefficiencies of Santa (which I had feared all along) he had left a load of mine and Brother Rory’s presents at Mamma and Grandad’s. I think because they had sent the presents to him he thought they needed to go back to them, even though they were for me. Dingbat!
But Mamma and Grandad had bought me this giant cardboard box with a picture of a car on it. When dad opens it for me it will be big enough for me to sit in and pretend it’s a car. The best Christmas present ever!
So it was worth looking after Mamma and Grandad, after all.
Bye, bye, Ewan
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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