Hello, and welcome to my blog.
Well, it’s all over. Christmas is done and dusted, and I’m writing this blog in the Bermuda triangle that is the period after Boxing Day and before New Year’s Eve – those few days where no-one is really sure what day it is. This cluster of days are spent dressed either in pyjamas (if not going out) or in all the clothing you were bought for Christmas. If you got new pants, trousers, t-shirt, jumper, and a coat you wear them all at the same time – even if it means sweating profusely and not being able to get the seatbelt round you in the car.
I hope your Christmas was all you hoped it would be. I was fortunate enough to have a very nice Christmas with my family. I’m always sad on Christmas Day evening, because after all the build up and preparation that goes into Christmas, it is all over so very fast. Still, it was nice to see the kids open their presents.
Now, I am a firm believer that you shouldn’t know what you are getting for Christmas. It spoils the anticipation, and people who tell their children what they are getting (or confirm that what the children have asked for will be got) are all wrong, and should be put on an island and not allowed to celebrate Christmas. In my house, secrecy is key. I will go to any lengths to retain the mystery – including researching medically induced temporary amnesia. Children are by default nosey, and will search for gifts, so a battle of wits ensues each festive season.
Our eldest child asked for a new bike for Christmas, and while said cycle was ordered weeks ago, I cunningly arranged for the shop to hold it until Christmas Eve. This would guarantee the bike being unseen by the child – who I was certain would be hunting for gifts at every opportunity.
At this point I should say that I never saw any evidence of present hunting, but I know it happened. You can’t see the back of your head, but you know it’s there. Enough said.
So Christmas Eve came and I went to collect the bike. When I got back I sneaked it into the garage, and laid it under our car trailer – convinced that Son would search all buildings thoroughly, including the garage. I then crept back into the house, and sneaked a peek at where our Son was – exactly in the same place he was when I left the house an hour or so ago; glued to his tablet.
Later that evening, the kids went to bed (it’s the one night of the year that they go to bed willingly), and after waiting for them to stop twitching excitedly, we quietly retrieved the presents from their hiding place and placed them under the tree Several times during this process, my fiancée asked me to bring the bike up from the garage. Each time, I said I would do it later – because I was convinced that our Son was listening intently to our every word
Our garage is at the bottom of our garden. Our garden slopes away from our house, and stops about 2 feet from the garage, with a low wall marking the boundary. The light from the house shines directly onto the garage side door – a normal sized door. At about 10:45pm, my fiancée had lost all patience with me and so demanded that I went and got the bike. I was still sure that our Son was on high alert, so I crept silently out of the back door – and was met with a loud “Good Evening!” From one of our neighbours who was walking their dog up our street. I hissed ‘good evening’ whilst simultaneously cursing their poor choice of volume, before creeping down the street to the garage
There is a path that runs around the garage from the front to the side door, and this path fills the gap between garage and the low wall. Two thirds of this path was in shadow, but the last third was illuminated by the light from the house. I was sure that my Son was watching out of his bedroom window at the garage at that very moment, so I knew that I had to take drastic measures.
Which is why I covered the last third of the path on my hands and knees, so that I was hidden by the low wall. The ground was cold dirty and wet, and I’m fairly sure I squashed a slug between my fingers when I put a hand down as I crawled. I reached the door of the garage; slowly I raised one hand to the lock, and put the key in. As quickly as I could I slipped into the garage, and shut the door behind me. I retrieved the bike from under the trailer, and exited via the large garage door, before creeping back up the street – on the other side of the road, using the vehicles as cover.
I got back to the house, with cold wet knees, and slug under my nails and placed the bike under the tree.
I don’t know if my Son realised that the bike was hidden in the garage, but I was confident that I had kept it hidden successfully.
My fiancée was confident I was an idiot by over complicating things.