The North Pole.
I haven’t written you for many years, because somewhere between James Bond Junior and Sweet Valley High, I stopped believing.
I remember the first Christmas I didn’t write and you didn’t stop by. In my mind’s retrospective eye, that year, Christmas was toned down from the most beautiful and bright of colours to an unwelcome grey, and smothered with a feeling of being hard done by.
Since then, there have been good and bad years. I re-adjusted my expectations to the more adult setting and made do with versions of cheer, no longer in the form of the imaginings of reindeer on the roof, but in the form of nights out and good food and proper ‘Charlie & the Chocolate Factory’ on the television.
This year, I am allowing myself the indulgence of childhood hope. I want to believe in something again, and so I am starting with you. Of all the things I have believed in throughout my life – the love of my family, my own personal strength and every storyline in Home & Away – nothing ever brought me so much joy as my belief in you.
I am not expecting you to leave anything under the tree for me on Christmas Eve - you have enough little people to tend to in the world. But I am asking that sometime between now and close of business on Christmas Day, you could send me some of your magic for the year ahead.
I know you’re more in the business of making toys and that I should probably be forwarding this to my fairy godmother, but she abandoned me a while back. Between you and me, she wasn’t up to much anyway.
They say it is important to look forward and concentrate on the future, but I admit my view of the road ahead is unimpressive and pitted with what looks sadly like more of the same. I know this is because in my heart I cannot accept I am going into another new year, still on dialysis.
This letter is about hope though, and I have to hang on to some optimism that the year 2011 will bring me the healing I require, some direction in my life again and some purpose to my days, which are currently silent and empty.
Any one of those three would be wonderful – all three would count in my eyes, and possibly in the eyes of the Vatican, as a miracle.
When I was young, I used to try to out-do my brother in the number of 'pleases' I could put at the end of my letter to you. Thankfully, I now have more words in my vocabulary with which to appeal to your kind nature.
So I will say, I would be most grateful if you could consider my request and make me a believer once again.
Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please x one hundred million trillion, to infinity and beyond...