On a lighter note, this was first written by me and published in the Christmas edition of La Baguette, St Brelade's Parish Magazine, but it's worth sharing here too for my blog readers.
You always hear about Father Christmas around December, but spare a thought for Mother Christmas, who often doesn't get much of a mention. She's the one who actually goes out and buys all the presents. Men don't like shopping, and Santa is no exception, I'm afraid. Wrestling through the shopping crowds to find those perfect gifts is not one of his skills.
And then she has to wrap them all up neatly. Like many men, that's not a skill that Father Christmas has ever acquired. If he had to wrap anything up, it would be a shapeless mess, girded with lashings of sticky tape. But Mother Christmas knows how. She's gone through eight thousand rolls of sticky tape and one million metres of gift wrap, all so that it will be ready for him to deliver on Christmas Eve.
So there Father Christmas is, stretched out, as you see him in the Christmas card, his rosy cheeks and beaming smile, eating mince pies beside a roaring fire. If a camera could pan around the room, you'd see Mother Christmas neatly cutting paper, placing bows and ribbons on all the presents, ticking them off the list. Her other skills include her duties baking those mince pies and washing Father Christmas' socks.
In a moment, she'll rouse him from his slumber, and put his freshly cleaned red lined fur coat on, give him the sack and send him on his way. And with a yo-ho-ho, his sleigh will lift off into the night sky, and he'll deliver all those presents, prepared earlier by Mother Christmas. All he has to do is to work hard one night of the year. No wonder Father Christmas looks so happy when you see him!
Mînniet, Chrêtchiens - Minuit, Chrétiens - O Holy Night - Eune Bordée d'Noué by Badlabecques Mînniet, Chrêtchiens, né v'là l'heuthe sainte tch'a sonné. Des pus hauts lieux Dgieu d'valit dans la chai, pouor asseûthe...
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