Farquar!

The cycling holiday was nearly at an end. Marie, Belle et Bonne and Jesus retraced their route along the coast road. It was such a beautiful afternoon that they decided to stop riding for a while and take a walk on the beach.

Marie and Belle et Bonne walked ahead, while Jesus lagged behind. He was trying to think of what to write. It was true that he had begun to keep a diary last Easter, but he hadn't kept it up. In fact he'd only written in it twice. He remembered writing something about hoping someone would not be eaten by a shark.

Who was it?, he wondered.

Suddenly he heard a woman's voice calling urgently.

Farquar! Farquar! Farky!

A large brown dog bounded past.

What! thought Jesus. Surely no one would call their dog Farquar!

As he continued walking, the sounds of children's voices reached his ears.

Far-kar! Far-kar! shouted the children.

Unbelievable, said Jesus to himself. As if it isn't bad enough to call your dog Farquar in any case, to call your dog Farquar when you have young children unable to pronounce his name except as Far-kar has to be the height of irresponsibility.

He sped up to tell Marie, and Belle et Bonne.

Can you believe that dog back there's called Farquar? he asked them.

Oh, what a lovely name, said Belle et Bonne.

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.

The Minus Eighth Day of Christmas

On the minus eighth day of Christmas, which is today, I don't feel very Christmassy, but I know how to rectify that. From now until Christmas I'll write about Christmassy things. And so:

Nativity.

At Townsend Park, where my mum lives, the men have made lifesize painted plywood Christmas decorations and placed them at various points throughout the grounds. There are Disneyesque mice in red Christmas hats saluting near the flower bed, thin angels blowing golden horns at the end of the drive, reindeer with mouselike features prancing on the oval, and, the piece de resistance, a nativity scene in the gazebo, complete with everybody but the infant Jesus.

This lack of a baby Jesus is quite concerning. Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the wise men staring into an empty cradle.

Has he been stolen?
Or has Easter come early?