Dear Father Christmas…

Dear Father Christmas,

I thought I might drop you a line letting you know about my seasonal wish list just in case you happened to be passing Oak Street and felt like looking in. It is a while since we have swept the chimney but I am sure you will manage.

As no doubt you are aware, we had a little discussion with the children a couple of months ago, suggesting the economical measure of them ceasing to believe in you.

Obviously they both asserted their utter conviction in your continued existence, and Lucy, who is sixteen, remarked ominously that she hoped I was not going to tell her anything that would spoil the joyous magic of the season for her.

I said to them that there didn’t seem much point in having stockings full of bits and pieces that they didn’t really want, but they were both adamant that they did want lots of things that they didn’t really want, and that this was all part of the excitement.

In consequence of this they will both be hanging their stockings up on Christmas Eve as usual, to be expensively and magically filled before morning.

Number One Daughter called today to discuss Christmas presents, it seems that she and Number One Son-in-Law have bought Oliver some explosives. I am delighted with this, as you can imagine, and wonder if you might like to bring Lucy some facial piercings and a tattoo to go with them.

Mark and I will not be hanging up stockings of course, but I do happen to know that Mark would very much like a long-handled brush for scrubbing his back in the shower. I do not scrub his back for him because if I do he stops having a proper wash and starts making inappropriate suggestions. He did have a long handled brush once but it met with some misfortune, I forget what, probably dog-related, and was thrown away.

My own Christmas list is pretty much the same as it is every other year, champagne, nice wine, Chanel soap, Hotel Chocolats, and anything from Penhaligon’s, also if you have been making damson gin that goes down well.

I am always jolly pleased to get hyacinths in a pot, because of the glorious scent when they come out, they are my favourites. I bought lots of them one year, and the smell just breathed through the whole house like springtime creeping in early, they are ace.

They are loads better than the stupid poinsettias I have got at the moment. These have got the survival instincts of a mentally challenged sheep, and which have been slowly dying, leaf by dropping leaf, ever since I bought them a couple of weeks ago.

I had hoped to keep them going until Christmas and thus cut down my eternal overspend at the florist across the road, but no such luck. I read all of the instructions on the Horticultural Society website but they just don’t work. I think if I am to do houseplants they need to be the sort of plants that don’t need much light and can survive being recklessly overwatered occasionally, and then forgotten for a couple of months.

Apart from things that smell nice, taste nice and make me intoxicated, there are always books. We always mark our holidays with a celebratory family trip to Waterstones, which invariably costs more than the rest of the holiday put together. We looked at the teetering book piles all over the place this morning and knew that next year will have to be a Year Of Bookshelf Construction, since nobody in the house seems to want a Kindle.

Also this year I have fallen in love with a glorious pair of sheepskin-lined flip-flops, what greater luxury could feet know? but I think I have probably managed to importune sympathetic relatives sufficiently for you not to need to worry about those.

I suppose the real truth is that I don’t actually want anything very much. The best bit of Christmas is the meeting up with people, the eating together and drinking cocktails and staying in beautiful places and feeling gloriously spoilt and happy.

I am already enjoying Christmas with an intensity that is like liquid warmth inside me. I love making mince pies and Christmas cards and chocolate. I love the lights in the streets and the bittersweet Christmas melodies. Today I have brought our beautiful woollen greatcoats down from the attic and brushed them down ready for the first of the carol services. They are hanging on the rail like costumes from a play, waiting for the hot lights and the audience.

We go to York tomorrow, and it is all really beginning in earnest. I am so excited it is making my chest feel tight.

I don’t need anything for Christmas.

Really I think I am quite happy enough.

Love from Sarah