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A nineteen year old with a camera in rural Norfolk. http://rosajoy.com

Thursday, 24 December 2009

Not a creature was stirring

Christmas Eve was always pretty nightmarish in our house. With Santa Claus on his way, getting me to go to bed (and stay there) was a mission worthy of 007. There were the mince pies to lay out and the tumbler of whisky to pour*, and the carrots to fetch for the reindeer. Then the stockings had to be chosen**, and hung up, and only then could bedtime even be considered.

But. My parents had a cunning plan. You see, in order to speed things up, I always got my first Christmas present that night. And it was always a new pair of pyjamas. Instant bedtime.



*They had always disappeared in the morning. And Mum always topped up the whisky a little bit...
**I never understood why parents insisted on making me choose one with a pair. One year, I woke up to find my stocking with teddy bears had magically changed into one with snowflakes, which looked a lot like the one I'd seen in their room earlier...

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