Another note, how lovely

I want you all to be very quiet, it is hideously early in the morning and Ann is trying to sleep, if I make an spelling mistakes now I will have to(rather conveniently)leave them be for fear of excessive keystrokes causing unwanted awkeness in the afor mentioned flat mate(who is extemely charming and understanding(possibly a slightly transparent attempt at appeasement but none the less accurate :P)). I was alarmed (in a very quiet and not at all disturbing manner)to discover myself awake at this time and that my little online friends chat box in the left hand corner of the screen was sadly declaring "No one is available to chat"(this was a doubley bad statement for me because it proved that my increasing suspicions that no one is in fact two words were possibly based on some grain of truth). GADZOOKS!I cried!-not literally obviously, but internally where one is liable to spout all manner of bizzare and archaic phrases coined by "The naughtiest girl in school" and several of the more irritating members of "The Famous Five"-why, if I am awake whilst others are not then I must find another way to communicate with the great wide world, after several failed attempts at becoming a world famous singer intent on using my fame to gain influence amongst the youth of today and create a career on the back of my one chart topping hit "I'm not particulary fond of the day after Sunday" I resigned myself to writing another note.What I would like to discuss today(by which of course I mean prattle on about in a slow and disjointed meandering fashion)is the topic of perspective.Let me tell you a story, it happened when I was a very very small little young person, I saw my very first celebrity. I was particulary excited that night(being a very very small little young person I was in the habit of getting particularly excited over the prospect of a new set of crayola crayons that featured the elusive and much sort after "aquamarine"so let us not put too much store in my excitement), the next day being the very next best thing to my birthday, oh yes, the day that followed would be Christmas day. Four children ran around the house filled with butterflys and the promise of sugar.I, being the smallest of the four was not certain of the purpose of the running but had developed the rather annoying habit of doing exactly what my siblings did, just a little slower and much less effectively.My sister Katy and I were dressed in fluffly red dressing gowns(how festive you might think, but actually no, we wore them all year round)and I remember that lovely cozy warm winters night feeling of contentment. My parents had the unenviable task of trying to get all of us into our beds and asleep simultaneously, being such a daunting task they had started early, this may be the passage of time altering my perspective but I believe we had just had our lunch(yes mother dear I am joking, it was probably about five oclock in the afternoon though, I was always always flummoxed by the early dark of winter....conspiracy that is against all small people).Bubbling bursts of magic and forever filled my mind(how strange and out of place that description seems, I have the overwhelming urge to describe a fried egg for the next ten minutes-word-smith that I am ;p)then, without ceremony I was whisked away by a slightly aggetated father dear and plopped into my cot bed(either that or my parents kept me in some sort of prison compound for years, there were bars I can tell you that much). Both mother dear and father dear came in then to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight, full of promises that the other three conspicuously lively and chattering children were in fact getting in to their own beds and yawning for asleep at that very moment(I viewed this with the cynisism it deserved(forgive the spelling I was after all very small))."Now remember, Father Christmas is coming tonight, and if he sees that you're awake he won't leave you any presents, so you must get to sleep". Lights off....sounds of my supposedly sleeping siblings trooping downstairs to watch the second part of Dynasty filled me with a sense of injustice. So great was my indignance that I was asleep within minutes....Suddenly it was the middle of the night. There was a thickness to the dark that told me EVERYBODY in the house was asleep. My senses were straining and my mothers words came back to me "if he sees that you're awake he won't leave you any presents", then I heard the bells, my stomach lurched as I made out the distinctive sound of reindeer hooves on the roof above my bedroom(which is admitedly slightly strange given that there was no roof above my bedroom). It was too late! Any second now I would be rumbled, no presents, no christmas...i squeezed my eyes tight tight shut and held my breath. Huge lumping footseps approached my bedroom door and then......I opened my eyes...there at the door way stood father christmas, his shape was indistinct but the twinkling triangle of his hat gave the game away, I had not expected him to look like this, more like the shape of Orion in the night sky than a portly man with a long white beard and a snug red suit, but then celebrities often do look didfferent in real life. He must have been distracted that night because despite my eyes being on him the entire time I heard the rustling of stockings filled with presents and exhaled in releif that I had not ruined christmas after all.The next morning having had the usual christmas breakfast of an entire selection box of chocolate bars I told my family of what I had seen, certain they would be awed and inspired at my tale. To my frustration my brother and sisters exchanged knowing glances and rolled their eyes, my parents were kinder, yet still I felt there was an element of disbeleif lurking about the place. Even to this day I can still see the outline of stars at my bedroom door (in my head of course, I'm not suggesting this is a nightly visitation thing)and remember with certainty that I HAD NOT WANTED to see father christmas and had been terrified the entire time. Isn't it strange how a little imagination and the element of suggestion can turn a man you see every day and know better than anybody else into a magical being that you are unlikely to see more than once in your lifetime? It's all a matter of perspective.....and now I'm probably goign to be late for work.....bugger x