Rather like socialism to many people, my daughter Emily has decided that she likes the thought of Father Christmas more than the actual reality.Today we were up early to queue with the multitudes in Jarrolds to meet the man himself. Emily was happy, looking forward to it and very talkative. She pointed at him through the window, she loved the balloons and the decorations. She grinned manically as we walked through the door. She took one look and ... burst into hysterical wailing and tears. Poor old Santa, I thought. How embarrassing for us all.
By the time we had left and shopped around Norwich, Emily was back to liking Father Christmas and had forgotten all about that nasty moment when her greatest hope become a reality and turned into her greatest fear.
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