Death to grumpery - Hola! By Jan Needle
My old father, sadly, got to be quite a grumpy old git in the years before he succumbed to seventy years of constant smoking (he started at eight; I leave you to do the sums). But even as a younger man he wasn’t keen on such foolishness as Christmas. He once acquired a miniature costermongers barrow as a surprise present for me, and when I found it hidden at the bottom of the yard, sold it to someone else. Didn’t tell me, and when I’d spent most of the festive morning happily hunting for it, was quite surprised when I burst into tears on hearing the sad truth. Come to think of it, maybe he was always a grumpy old git. Who knows? The point is, when I got children of my own – and mindful of the old saw that we all turn into our mums and dads – I was determined to be the Christmas party animal par excellence. My greatest triumph was when I got a local handyman to run me up a sit-in perambulating railway engine for Hughie when he was about five. I’m...