Those Crafty Little…

For many people Christmas is a happy time, where families get together and realise that in fact they really do dislike each other as much as they suspected they did last year and that there is a reason why we don’t see Uncle Martin very often.

I’ve always thought Christmas is somewhat overrated but thought that having children would give me that warm cosy feeling that I haven’t experienced since I nodded off drunk on a night bus and I wet myself.

However, I’ve realised that Christmas is not designed for people like me and in fact having children brings that sense of not fitting in to the season of goodwill into stark LED Christmas light backlit relief.

People do not understand that Christmas is a terrible time of year for people who are shite at “crafting”.


I thought Halloween was bad enough. We buy a pumpkin. I think I’ll do some carving (perhaps a bust of the first century BC Roman philosopher Cicero. B would love that.). I’m about to fire up the chain saw and the response I get from Mrs DB, the woman who currently co-exists with me in a mutual state of half panic half oblivion, is “Perhaps I should do this? You could make the inside bits into soup later, maybe?”

Soup? Soup?  Cicero didn’t eat soup.

Now don’t get me wrong, I may not be crafty but I am a lover of art. Just today we went to the pre-school nativity and they were selling artworks that the kids had done to raise funds. I let Mrs DB invest in B’s. If I am honest it was ok but little Declan is a star. The next Banksy I reckon. His mum was a little upset I got in there first but in the art game you have to move quickly. I’m sure he’ll draw all over her living room wall at some point. That’s bound to make up for it.

I worry how I’m going to step up to the plate for my kids. I can do lots of things. Wipe bums, make porridge, dance round the kitchen like no-one is watching (or judging) but beyond taking the correct end off the pritt-stick, I’m useless.

Will B ever play Test Cricket if I can’t stencil a lion onto a paper cup? Will G ever become the first female British Prime Minister if her papier mache sphinx is painted haphazardly?

Frankly I don’t know answers to any of these questions. If you know, please send me your advice on a handmade depiction of a buzzard made from pipe cleaners.

Merry Christmas to one and all.


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