They only live in the absolute present, the three second crystal lens that they are consuming and digesting every moment. So, Christmas trees are interesting, but as there are none here(yet) the Christmas tree lost out to a plastic horse with a bent leg, a crane and bedtime looming darkly within the adult conversations.
They didn’t want to go to bed.
Everyone one is out here. The evening is too warm and too light to be proper night, and young parents are sprawled, complaining gently about everything and looking forward to the next day.
I have a promising stack by my bed and have no problem with the night, except that it is too short.
But the little boys are unsure. There’s a matchbox car and three difficult blocks that won’t become a shed. Things to sort. The monkey tree is bent. A log of wood dragged inside to be a fence has shed bugs into the carpet. Someone tore Hairy Maclary, it wasn’t me.
It was Finny.
Is it Christmas outside?
Am I sleeping here?
I’m going to childcare party.
I haven’t got any apple.
Nanny, I haven’t got any apple.
Where shall we put the Christmas tree, do you think?
Can I have any of some more apple?