Professor B’s pseudonymous kid reminds me a lot of how I was as a kid particularly in relation to meeting Santa Claus.
I was reluctant to go along with the common herd and sit on Santa’s knee and tell him what I wanted for Christmas, It’s not like he’s the real one anyway. “Why are you making me do this mum?” I would whine. I much preferred to conduct my Christmas wish list business with Father Christmas at a long distance via letter.
I remember that this event didn’t happen at a mall (didn’t have them back in the day in my neck of the woods) but in a small village hall and we had a Christmas breakfast of sausages and baked beans beforehand. Such are the weird traditions in small English rural communities.
Tags: me
