I have little cousins staying at my house tonight and the sitting room has just been prepared for santa. I can't wait to see their faces in the morning
I remember when the rumours first started in school. It started like a silly philosophy, innocent until a few kids at the top of the food chain became unbelievers too. Asantyism was enforced ruthlessly with weeks of hard ridicule for dissenters. Us believers came together in secret to discuss our evidence and look forward to Christmas. We supported eachother through tough times, talked about hoof prints in the snow, bells at night and soot on the carpet.
In the end, I looked it up in an encyclopedia. I don't know what age I was, maybe 8 or 10. I remeber the feeling though. I was on the border between childhood and everything else, and this was what growing up would be like. Priviledge and entitlement, one after the other, taken taken taken. Swapped for more homework and a weariness that that slowly crept into all corners of life.
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Ara, what do I care for me goose feathered bed?
What do I care for blankets?
Tonight I lie in a wide open field,
in the arms of me raggle taggle gypsy-o