Letter of Noel

As inspired by Letters of Noel via www.letterslive.com Ok, I know it’s only April, but I’m getting this in early for next Christmas, because apparently there is a queue of several million people asking for stuff in the run up to the festive season. And even though I’m British, I do so hate queueing. So here it is...

Dear Santa, I’m not six or any age which requires belief in you. I haven’t been for some years. Well actually, decades have gone by.

I have to admit that even at six my belief in you was less than solid. Maybe it’s because I could hear my Nanna, in the privacy of the bathroom, stuffing my presents into a pillowcase then ramming them into the top of the airing cupboard, there to remain until the allotted time, i.e. after I’d gone to bed on Christmas eve. Then they would magically appear at the bottom of my bed. Nanna Magic is the most powerful magic ever invented. Money was not to be found in abundance at our house and the Christmas tree wasn’t big enough to put presents under. Just a few sweets, usually from a tin of Roses Chocolates. I’ve been suspicious of Roses ever since. They remind me of poverty.

Poverty is something you have consistently been unable to cure, in all the years that millions of impoverished people have begged for it to cease in their Christmas wish list, you’d think you could’ve slipped it in somewhere. I assume from this that there are far more rich people begging with equal determination for the continuation of their wealth and status to remain in tact, and that you in your weakness have sided with them. Therefore they get what they want at Christmas. Perhaps they offer you port and mince pies from Harrods or Waitrose rather than a Morrisons own brand sherry and a slightly unattractive, homemade edible. Perhaps that’s why you are portrayed so often as being rather fat.

At six, even I with my limited knowledge of the laws of physics, knew it would be impossible for someone of your girth to get down our chimney. Not to mention that we had a gas fire. Even a tiny mouse who kept inviting himself in, looked to be finding it a bit of a squeeze.

I have no real argument with you per-Se, but you are just one more imaginary friend to sit alongside elves, fairies, ghosts, not to mention deities. Ok, I don’t think anyone went to war in your name (there’s the religion argument starting up), and you do seem like a friendly sort of chap really. But if you are real, please stop giving kiddies replica guns and games like World of Warcraft. Definitely don’t give them stuff with sugar in. Sugar is a non-starter. But then, who can blame you, I mean, you just drop the stuff off and let the families chase around after the hyped up little darlings for the rest of the year. You don’t have to deal with that do you. Cut and run, that’s you. Like some sort of errant parent. Do you have commitment issues?

I’m sure, if you were real, you would at least think about the inequality of life, even if you couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. Perhaps you are a kind of politician. Are you? Because it looks to me like you started out showing such promise, only to be side-tracked by the seasonal power handed to you. Or are you just another version of God? Kept alive by small children, eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping and praying for the gifts of their dreams. And the adults still kneeling at the foot of the bed, knowing the horrors of this world but praying however hopelessly, for a better life.

I don’t think I ever wrote to you, even when young enough not to appear silly in doing so. At least I don’t remember anyway.

Mind you, I can’t be sure what I did yesterday to tell you the truth. So if you happen upon an old letter you clearly didn’t open at the time (shame on you) and it is from the six year old me, give it a read. Whatever it is I asked for, I probably still want that.

Because I have a feeling that it would be for everyone just to be happy.

I await your response in anticipation, Alison (aged 48 and quite a bit) PS: I’ve still got Cindy’s horse as well as the ballet Cindy doll, but her tu-tu is a bit tatty and her ankles don’t go on-point anymore, which is a shame. I have kept them for sentimental reasons.