Things don't get any better

Back again. Mum and Dad still make me visit Father Christmas though.
'You can say sorry as well, Wilfred,' says Dad.
Dexter has disappeared. His Mum and Dad took him home very quickly. Dexter is not forced to apologise. When the lights went out, all the baby children screamed and ran away, so now there is no queue. Dad shoves me through the tent flaps. Inside it is very dim. I can hardly see where I am going and I bump into Santa's elf.
'Watch where you're going you little...' she was about to say something rude, I was sure of it but then she says, 'you dear little boy-do you want to see Father Christmas?'
'Alright,' I say. 'Where is he?'
'Through the magical curtain,' she says.
I recognise the magical curtain as the one from off the post office window. As soon as I go through it, I see Santa sitting in a big brown armchair. His Santa suit has come undone in the middle and I can see a stripey shirt poking through.
'Ho-ho-ho!' he says. Then he stops and stares. 'So you're the cheeky little monkey who put the lights out eh? Ho-ho-ho.' But he says this not quite so ho-ho-ho-illy.
'Yes,' I say and then I remember what I have to say. 'I'm sorry.'
'Hmmm,' says Santa. looking at me closely. 'I think I know you from last year.'
He begins scratching his beard and the ho-ho-ho-s have stopped.
'Can I have a motorised toboggan, please?' I say this very quickly so he won't remember last year.
'That's it!' says Father Christmas, heavin himself out of his chair, 'you pulled my beard off last year!'
He remembered. This is too depressing.
Wilf

Doing Something More Interesting

This picture is my idea of doing something more interesting. I think it would be very interesting to have invented something like the 'cyclorama' which was actually invented in the 1700s. There was no TV or DVD then and people were a bit bored. So they could go to this building where you could experience events like, a battle without being killed or a parliamentary debate without having to stay very long. Today you could experience, the moon landings or Buzz Aldrin's spacewalk which would be buzztastic.

So Mum pipes up.
'It's so good of that nice Mr Parkin to be Father Christmas again-especially after last year.' She says this to dad in a whisper as though I won't hear it.
I decide to do something more interesting. 'Just going to look over there!'
'Put that back, Wilfred!' calls my mum as I pull one of the staples out of the green stuff around the entrance to the tent grotto. I make an outrageous discovery. 'This is plastic holly!' I shout. 'It's not even real!' This just about sums up the whole of Christmas for me. Fake and made up.
And the whole queue has a good look.
'Leave it alone!' Mum starts pointing frantically. 'Look, look! There's Dexter, near the tree, why don't you hello. We'll keep your place!'
But Dexter has seen me first. He sprints over and nearly slips on the ice. 'Like them?' he asks and switches the flashing Rudolph antlers on and off.
I'm impressed though I don't say so.
'I've got the nose too,' he says, putting that on as well.
I am jealous now.
'Quite good,' I say, 'But I bet I can light up my entire body like that Christmas tree.'
'Go on then,' says Dexter.
'Follow me.'
So we walk quite boldly up to the Christmas tree and then creep around the back of Santa's tent grotto. It is quite interesting round here because there is a great long line of twinkling cable leading to a large plug just inside the open post office door.
'Watch,' I say.
And I grab the spare lines of fairy lights and wrap them around me like an enormous scarf. I am looped and swirled all round with lights. 'Ta-da!' I say and stretch out my arms.
'Wow!' says Dexter.
Then the carol singers start up again over the loud speakers and Dexter starts to prance like Ruddolph and I start to dance like dad. And we laugh and laugh until...
FIZZLE! POP! It all goes black.
The carol singers go all silent night.
And there is a lot of screaming.
'I think I've pulled the plug out,' I say, unwrapping myself really quickly.
'Now you've done it,' says Dexter. 'I'm off.'

Nightmare.
Wilf

The Christmas Grotto

The Tent-Grotto. Not the actual one because when I tried to take a real photo, That Nice Mr Parkin said I would have to pay money and also because all the baby children started making stupid faces and showing me their Thomas the Tank underpants.

So, four thousand miles later, we are in the freezing brightly lit village square at the Christmas market. It is crowded with millions of people all bundled up. If you knocked anyone over, they would roll into the next person and they would roll into the next person; you might even get the great crowd of carol singers huddled next to the automatic loo-a strike! I begin to wonder then, who would be the best person to start this off and how could I do it? I look round. Mrs Trundle, my teacher, has collared dad next to the candle stall. Amy, teacher's pet, teacher's daughter, is standing next to her. She is talking and eating at the same time-I wish I could do that. I duck down, hoping that Mrs Trundle doesn't have a chance to talk to dad about the last science lesson.
And how Amy fell down.
Because she honestly just got in the way and she wasn't hurt-not much anyway. Actually, Amy rolls quite well. I could sneak up and accidentally fall into dad and he could fall into Amy, then the whole Christmas crowd would tumble onto the frosty ground. Now that would be interesting. I bend low to make my charge when mum says.
'It's all so magical!' She pulls me upright. 'Look at the tree and the decorations!'
Mrs Trundle smiles and she and Amy are sucked back into the crowd. Dad is beaming as he fights his wayover to us, so Mrs Trundle must have kept quiet about the science lesson.
'Have you seen Father Christmas' grotto?' he shouts over the carol singers. He's pointing at a large white tent. This is standing outside a row of normal shops, which are closed. The tent grotto has tiny white lights all around it and some sort of green plant growing around the door. We go and join the queue. It is jiggling with baby children and I'm glad I can't see anyone I know (Amy doesn't count).
You think this is bad well, it gets worse-tune in for more.
Cheers
Wilf

This is my story

Planet Parent is a distant world. The inhabitants of this place are strange, slow-moving creatures who don't believe in aliens.

It was Christmas, like I mentioned and I was making a special present for mum and dad-the most interesting, musical vacuum cleaner ever.
'Wilfred!' It's my mum calling up the stairs. 'Wilfred, it's time to go and see Father Christmas!'
'Alright!' I call back. 'I don't want to go and see Father Christmas, Dexter,' I tell the computer. 'I would rather eat beetroot.'
'Yum, yum,' says Dexter.
'I think you need a re-boot,' I say. 'No-one likes beetroot.'
My parents are standing and waiting for me in the hall. They remind me of cows sometimes, all big-eyed and patient. They definitely do not understand the computer. They might like it if it made tea for them-I'll have to think about that one.
'Ready for Father Christmas, dear?' asks mum, pulling on her coat.
'Do you have to wear the same scarves?' I ask. 'It's really embarrassing when you where the same clothes!'
Actually they're just really embarrassing, wahtever they wear, but I keep quiet about that bit. Dad bends down and ruffles my hair.
'That's because we love each other, Wilfred and one day you'll understand.'
He gives mum one of those ploppy, sloppy looks and she smiles as wide as a monkey.
'Yuck,' I say and I put my robot-battles fleecy hat on.
'It's nearly Christmas, Wilfred,' says mum, and she does a little skip over the hall floor, 'your dad and I can't wait!'
Then dad does a little dance as well.
'Perhpas you should go to the loo before we leave,' I say, 'you look as though you need it.'
'I've been already,' says mum 'and take that scowl off your face, you used to love Father Christmas!'
'He's for baby children,' I say, still scowling.
Granpa Jack doesn't believe in Father Christmas. Have I mentioned Granpa Jack yet? He's the best, most interesting grown-up I know but more of him later. I keep quiet about him for now as it tends to make dad puff up like a gorilla about to attack.
'Just behnave yourself this year, that's all we ask,' says dad.
I am stung. 'What do you mean? I always behave myself.'
Mum gives dad a look but she doesn't say anything.
'It's nearly dark. Can we go in the car?' I ask, already knowing the answer.
'NO!' my parents say together in a shocked tone. 'The walk will do us good!'

And that's when the trouble started. More tomorrow.
Goodnight
Wilf

Planet Parent

On Planet-Parent, my mum and dad think that the telephone is quite a daring invention. Nightmare.

My name is Wilf and I am eight, very nearly nine years old. I would really like to be called 'Buzz' like, Buzz Aldrin but my parents wouldn't talk to me when I tried to change my name. I mean whoever heard of an astronaut called 'Wilfred'? I live with my parents who are extremely old and like to visit garden centres and stare at things. My favourite place (apart from The Science Museum of course!) is my bedroom or inventroom, as I like to call it. I have a computer in my inventroom and its name is Dexter. I named it after my best friend, Dexter. I am sad to say that Dexter is a bit slow and so is the computer-ha! Anyway, I want to tell you about my world because I can. The first bit of my story has to do with Christmas. Mum says this is always a difficult time. Too right. I'll start you off tomorrow as I have to go to bed now.
Wilf