Christmas

We are all hyped up and ready to go, it's Christmas Eve and the tills have collected as much as we were willing to buy and now it's time to spend on yourself.
Amazing that we, like sheep are willing to follow others when our common sense should have ruled otherwise long ago. We are in a competitive frenzy to out-do what our normal intuitive mind tells us is crazy.
I was listening on the radio to a set of interviews taken at this time of the year, interviews with youngsters and their parents discussing what they wanted for a present that particular year.
1964 the child's imagination was for a colouring book and an annual, by 1984, imaginary inflation had set in and the requests was for toys which belonged to the 'marketeers dream', the add on, clothes to dress the doll in or guns to make our hero invulnerable.
2004 was the start of the 'gaming' craze. Large amounts of cash handed over to the to be one of the 'select band' who could say "I have one".

Today it's an amazing range of interactive internet connected gizmos which only the kids know how to use as we the parent look on and wonder where did all the innocence go.

Mummy, Daddy. He's been he's been!! Tracy's eye's were full of excitement her grin splitting her face from East to west as she stood at the bedroom door of her parents. Still sleepy from the late night last-minute rush to parcel up the presents which had been hidden away on top of the wardrobe, Mum and Dad were infected by her thrilled belief in Santa which had held for another year.
All across the country this scene was being enacted as the children, wide eyed were re-living the mystical story of the Reindeer ride across across the rooftops and Father Christmas squeezing down the chimmely, into the lounge with a sack full of toys. The advent of central heating has proved a problem but not insurmountable since the parcels are there under the tree each year without fail.
Can I open this one. Who's name is on the label. "Daddy". Well that's for me lets find one for you.
When you wrote to Santa what did you ask for. A doll with red hair. Like Angela.

 Yes. "Where is Angela". She's still in bed, out with her friends until very late, not for disturbing thank you.
The paper so carefully folded and fastened is torn off the box in a frenzy, yes yes it's my dolly thank you Father Christmas. I suppose I mustn't hold a grudge but it wasn't him trudging around the shops in the miserable weather wondering if he could afford another gift, we haven't got anything for aunt Agatha. But then this is the season of "Joy" and since she has left her credit card at home I suppose I will have to forgo that sweater in M&S and hope someone buys me socks 'again' !!

Happy Christmas