Do you know that reindeer milk is green? I know, because I’ve seen and tasted it.
Every year Father Christmas comes to our village, always arriving a different way. This year he sailed across the little lake in the heart of our village in a yacht. He came ashore down at the steps and was brought up to the village hall on the back of a big red truck. He tells us, the excited group of children who’ve been waiting eagerly to welcome him, that his reindeer are very tired after their long trip from the North Pole, so they’re resting up at the beach at Onepoto on the shores of Waikaremoana. In a large shining milk can, there is a cup of their sweet green milk for each of us. I taste it myself, so I know.
In the middle of the Village Hall there’s a very tall Christmas tree, covered in sparkling coloured lights, dazzling our eyes. We’re all wearing fancy dress. This year I’m a Christmas tree, covered in shining tinsel and miniature decorations, with a star in my hair. I’m very proud and happy to be in this pretty dress. My little sister is a fairy.
Any moment now, someone will tell our important white bearded visitor that he can hand out the presents from the big bag he has brought with him. We’ve danced our folk dances, played our party games and filled our tummies with reindeer milk, fairy bread, cakes and biscuits. Now we’re all quiet. I’m hoping so hard that he will know I’ve been a really good little girl this past year, and give me a present. I’m not so sure about my little sister - she’s often not so good - but I’m hoping he’ll give her one too.
But in the midst of my excitement, I’m sad. I don’t know where my dad is. He should be here with all the other dads and now he’s missed seeing Father Christmas.