When I was a little kid I wholeheartedly believed in Santa. I believed everything from his residence at the North Pole to his reindeer drawn sleigh. It never occurred to me that there could be another explanation for the bulging stocking at the end of my bed on Christmas morning.

As I grew up the magic of Christmas started to fade, I realised that Santa is just a story and that it had been my parents, hovering on the landing waiting for me to fall asleep that had been filing that stocking.

Read more »