Santa's grotty!

We went to a country park at the weekend to visit Father Christmas in his grotto, billed as being 'in the North Pole'. If that was the North Pole it was exceedingly muddy. We had a timed entry but were herded into the café along with many other families. We were crowded together, someone had a hacking cough, ah, yes, just the place to catch a doze of Covid! The children were offered a free drink, the adults bought their own. How cunning. Time passed. Our scheduled entry time passed. I started to feel rather Scrooge. Bah humbug to this shameless marketing opportunity. I complained to a tall, thin, scruffy, dismal-looking 'elf' and we were walked across a playground to the most miserable looking place imaginable, luckily at the head of the queue as all the other families tagged on behind. Then we saw a garden shed and were blasted with a bit of artificial snow. Our Boy was now in the North Pole. "Are you coming, Nana?" Yes, in for a penny in for rather more pounds than this outing is worth!

It's daunting to be six and to be a believer. "Have you been good? Have you eaten your vegetables?" It's a problem when you are faced with questions like these. Our Boy is well brought up, he's not going to lie, so what is the solution? He took an anxious look at his mother, avoided all eye contact with Father Christmas and didn't say a word!

The audience with Father Christmas didn't last long and we were pleased when it was over. What a rip off!