Kids wake up at mental o'clock (maybe 5?) ransack the stockings, eat all the chocolate inside them but there ain't no going downstairs til at least half 7. All the stuff's under the tree in the conservatory, I make a pantomime peek in with an oh-no-boys-disaster-Santa's-not-been before they shove past and create a tornado of wrapping paper and noises so high-pitched only dogs can hear. Bliss.
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