My (almost) 3-year-old nephew has combined two of the trad elements of the Christmas story, discarded words he doesn't know in favour of similar words that he does, and decided that Baby Jesus was visited by three leopards. Ah-h-h-h.
In other news, I learned last night that the altar of a church somewhere in Germany, near where a friend's family lives, contains a sacred relic of a virgin from Cologne. It's a bone. And straightaway, as if divinely inspired, there came to me:
A certain young maid of Cologne
Was frightened of dying alone
She got to the altar
With scarcely a falter
But just in the form of a bone.
And finally, I'm still reeling slightly from hearing Elaine Paige (Elaine Paige!) singing Greg Lake's (Greg Lake's!) "I Believe in Father Christmas". One of the great Christmas ballads about the lies and disillusion of this most commercial of seasons, reduced to a showtune. Bring on the leopards.
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