I wrote this 75-worder a couple of years ago when Yvie, my snowflake creator, was just six years old. Those years have flashed by and, while we still have a believer in the house, I think this may be my last year as Father Christmas (and indeed, my 500th 75-worder was on that very subject and I may share it with you all later...)
It has been a week since I shaved and you sit on my knee and rub your hands across my cheeks, giggling at the sensation. You rub at my chin, where the hair is all but white and declare that I am turning into Father Christmas. I smile, thinking of years of glasses of whisky and half eaten carrots and bedroom creeping and hope I have a few years left with my secret identity still intact.
Until tomorrow (I hope!)