Dear Father Christmas,

I know that I’m probably too old to sit on your knee now (unless you are that kind of Santa in which case I have to tell you I’m not that kind of girl) but I hope it’s not too late in life to write you a letter asking you for what I want for Christmas.

My Christmas Wish List

1. My own bed. No, not a new one. There’s nothing wrong with the old one. No, I just want to sleep in the one I already have. Because I think I’ve done enough training for sleeping in a Business Class airline seat. Especially considering I’ll never get the chance to use it anyway.

How one sleeps with six broken ribs.

2. A Business Class airline ticket to my chosen destination.

Business Class passengers actually sleep better than I do.

3. The ability to drive. No, I don’t mean a voucher for driving lessons. I already have my licence. No, I don’t need a car either. I’ve got one. I just want to be able to physically drive it. Because being stuck at home is tedious.

Freedom

4. A trip in the TARDIS with the Doctor. Because every list should have something impossible on it.

“You. Come with me.”

5. A Lego Death Star kit. Because every list should have something possible on it.

6. Free unlimited postage between here and Lura, Nepal. So I can send whatever I want to the children of Lura who have so little but deserve so much.

7. Pride in my country. I lost the other one sometime in the past few years and I haven’t been able to find it. It might help if you put a large box of compassion under the Christmas tree for every politician.

8. My last one is not really just for myself. If I’m allowed to put in a bid for something on behalf of others, can I please have some peace? Five minutes peace for frazzled mothers, half an hour of peace in the fresh air for stressed office workers, an hour of peace from pain for the sick and, most of all, as much peace as you can rustle up for those who haven’t seen any for many years.

Thanking you in anticipation.

Not-So-Little MOSY