The Real World

Meanwhile, in the real world down on George Street, it is early morning:

Harold: Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Little Baby Jesus: Wah! What was that?

Harold: It's me, Harold.

Little Baby Jesus: You stupid old cock. I was asleep.

Harold: It's my job.

Little Baby Jesus: Well now I'm awake, you'll have to amuse me.

Harold: Alright, how?

Little Baby Jesus: I don't know. I'm bored. Tell me a story.

Harold: I don't know any stories suitable for babies.

Little Baby Jesus: I'm not really a baby.

Harold: What? Of course you're a baby.

Little Baby Jesus: No. Take a closer look.

Harold: I can't see your face under that Christmas hat.

Little Baby Jesus: Well, take my word for it. I'm not a baby. You can tell me a grownup story.

Harold: I don't know any grownup stories either. Tell you what though. There's a Hoyts movie theatre across the road. We could go there.

Little Baby Jesus: Ooh yes! What's on?

Harold: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, or Narnia, Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Which would you like to see?

Little Baby Jesus: Oh the Harry Potter! I love Harry Potter.

Harold: I thought you might like the Narnia one.

Little Baby Jesus: Nah!

Christmas Cock

We were walking home from the shops along George Street. Two girls in shorts were walking towards us giggling. One turned suddenly and ran back to look into the garden they'd just passed. She leaned forward almost crouching, doubled up. She caught up with her friend and they passed us laughing.

Now it's us walking past the house. Of course it's the house with the loony Christmas decorations, the nativity scene in the garden and the Santa's legs sticking out of the chimney.

What was so funny about that? But then I see their this year's new addition sitting on the grass next to the manger. It's a Christmas cock.

Well, a cock.

He's a Christmas cock by virtue of his being at the nativity. Staring beadily at the baby Jesus in all his feathered glory. I wonder what possessed them?

The Minus Sixth Day of Christmas.

Am I feeling Christmassy yet? No. Grumble, grumble, moan....

Waah!

Ooh, who said that?

Me, little Baby Jesus.

Gosh! Where are you?

I'm in a crib on George Street, wearing a red Christmas hat.

A red Christmas hat! That doesn't seem very appropriate.

I like it. I feel Christmassy. Have you got a hat?

Yes, I do have a Christmas hat. I wonder where it is......oh, here it is, in the bag of Christmas tree decorations.

Why don't you put it on?

It's too early. Hey, you're a very articulate little baby Jesus. Answer me this. Why isn't there one of you in the gazebo at Townsend House?

Hah! They wouldn't give me a hat.