|Ho Ho Nooooo..........|
It's The G.
She has developed Santaphobia.
Given the season, it's perhaps not the best time to decide that one is frightened of Father Christmas, but there it is.
Prior to the festive period, The G's greatest fear was Buckaroo (for the record, nothing scares The B more than Vikings), but even that has paled into insignificance of late.
Fat man, long beard, red suit, large bag?
Creeping into her bedroom?
In the dead of night?
Put like that, I can understand her anxieties.
Heck, I share them to a certain degree.
That in mind, it has been agreed that The G's stocking is to be deployed, for strategic reasons, in our bedroom on Christmas Eve.
The B isn't bothered, his due to be hung on his bed, although as I've been reminded in recent times, he too experienced significant Santaphobia at an earlier age.
Informed that Father Christmas liked to enter the premises via the chimney, he thereafter gave the fireplace at our previous house a wide berth for several subsequent months.
So there is hope, although time is running out for this Christmas.
It seemed she might be overcoming her issues at the weekend, The G even agreeing to enter the grotto to receive a gift during the nursery Christmas Party.
You see, having started watching the Peppa Pig Christmas special a little earlier, it had to be turned off after Father Christmas made an unexpected entrance.
"He's scary," The G squealed, burying her face and refusing to look at the screen.
Definite Santaphobia, and an acute case at that.....