I really like christmas. It’s sentimental I know, but I just really like it. I am hardly religious. I’d rather break bread with Dawkins then Desmond Tutu to be honest.
And yes I have all of the usual objections to consumerism, commercialisation of an ancient religion, to the westernisation of a dead palestinian press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer.
But I still really like it …
I’m looking forward to Christmas though I’m not expecting a visit from Jesus.
I’ll be seeing my dad, my brother and sisters, my gran and my mum.
They’ll be drinking white wine in the sun.
And you, my baby girl, my jetlagged infant daughter, you’ll be handed round the room like a puppy at a primary school and you won’t understand, but you will learn someday that wherever you are and whatever you face these are the people who’ll make you feel safe in this world.
My sweet blue-eyed girl.
And if, my baby girl when you’re twenty-one or thirty-one and Christmas comes around and you find yourself nine thousand miles from home, you’ll know what ever comes, your brother and sisters and me and your Mum will be waiting for you in the sun. Whenever you come.