Read my Christmas address: tmblr.co/ZjhGTyZ-z8iA
It’s this time of year I fondly remember my childhood when, aged 13, I told my 8 year old brother that Father Christmas didn’t exist. The next day I was predictably bollocked for ruining Christmas for him, and ordered to un-tell him. ‘You know how I said Father Christmas wasn’t real? Well, I was only messing.’ But he’d had time to think about it. He knew it made no sense. But he participated in the charade one last time, to keep the adults happy. And so with my innate mean-spiritedness fortified by the life lesson that lies are better than the truth, I was forged into the man I am today. Merry Christmas one and all.