On the 4th blog of Christmas…

My mother always told me
That there’s more to a mince pie
Than the pastry on the top
and the filling that’s inside

But one day I did ask her
full of curiosity
What is actually in a pie and
why is it called minced “meat”?

“Well Tilly,” she began to say,
as she knelt down to my height
“Maybe you should ask santa
what you’d find in a mince pie…

Because it’s santa’s elves who make them
And they really must be proud
Because they are so very yummy
and they are so perfectly round…”

“Yes but mummy what’s inside them?”
I asked her, my voice becoming low
She just laughed, tapped her nose 
and said:
“wouldn’t you like to know!”

But that night I lay in bed
and dreamt of what could be
Inside of those mince pies…
Why wouldn’t she tell me!?

So I waited til the morn
And asked her once again
“What is in a mince pie!?”
and she told me something strange

“The reason they never tell you
is they’re quite misunderstood
Because the elves who make the mince pies…
Are why they taste so good…

They mix them up so well
And they make them all themselves…
but the reason no one tells you,
is because they’re made of ELVES”

I looked at her in shock
And a shiver cut right through
But she gave me such a look
That I knew it must be true.

“But it’s not a bad thing!”
She quickly told me so
“For them it is a good thing,
and I really hope you know –

They do it to the old elves
Who have served santa well
and they line up by the mincer
and wait to hear the bell”

I listened very closely
Because I didn’t know what to say
and my mother told me something
That blew my mind away

“When the bell starts ringing
The elves all dive right in
And the younger elves start singing
to celebrate their win

Only the kindest elves
Get to become a mince pie
Because it’s very important to santa
That the mince pies taste just right”

And then it all made sense
“That’s why they’re so delightful!
But I wonder what they do to the elves
Who have been a little spiteful…”

“That,” said my mum
“Is not a story for tonight,
after all how do you suppose,
Santa’s beard is quite so white?”

On the 3rd blog of Christmas…


Dear Santa,
This year hasn’t been the best, I think we can all agree.
But I think despite this, I have been very good, and that is why I would like to ask for a little extra this year.
First things first, I really want a blanket. Not just any old blanket – a thick, cozy blanket that’s like a duvet for the sofa, because really I am just an old lady at heart.
Secondly, I want my mum to have a pain-free Christmas. Her EDS plays up something chronic in the cold weather and – well; let’s just say that nobody wants a painful Christmas.
Another thing: there’s going to be lots of us together at Christmas. A very busy household… It would be great if you could make sure that there were no arguments, and everyone got along just swell.
 You know what, while I’m at it, I might as well ask for world peace. I know it’s a big task… but maybe just one day would be fantastic… and then everyone would see what they were missing out on when they spend the whole time fighting. 
I also want to wish a Merry Christmas to a few people I have met on buses throughout the year:

  • The man who I sat next to that one time when a lady tripped him over with her walking stick
  • Archie, a special friend that I never thought I would have met on the bus that day
  • The guy that looks just like my Grandpa (but definitely isn’t him)
  • The baby with a moustache that pulled my hair
  • The man who eats jelly with his fingers
  • And the lady who told me all about her holiday. Have a lovely time in Gran Canaria!

And that’s just to name a few!
So Santa, I know it’s a big ask… but can you make sure that they all have a great Christmas too? Thanks, I think they really deserve it. 
But you know who else deserves it? Every single person that’s put up with my nonsense for another year… and will have to continue dealing with me for the next year – hopefully, (please don’t leave me).
All in all, I would like to wish you a Merry Christmas! Don’t forget to eat as many mince pies as you can, I know I surely will be!
 All my love and the happiest holiday,
Matilda xxx

On the 2nd blog of Christmas…

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Marcel was known for being quite a peculiar cat.

He was black and white, with no inch of grey and his moustache was perfectly placed across his face. But it was not just his looks that made him such a strange cat…
It was at 6 o’clock exactly every single morning, that he would let out one strangled meow at the top of the stairs indicating that it was time for his favourite breakfast, (salmon from a tin no doubt), and would continue to meow until exactly 6:45, when his favourite human would take him downstairs.
Now, Marcel liked his things to be in a certain place. His bed was by the fire, just a few inches away, and at a particular distance at which he could see any incoming intruders to the house through the glass front door.

He would dine at exactly 12 o’clock and then later at 5, and once again at 9 o’clock as his humans went up to bed, at which Marcel would take it upon himself to walk around the house finding the comfiest place to sleep, (usually the stairs where upon anybody could trip)

But things began to change.
All of a sudden, Marcel’s bed had been moved a little further away from the fire, in order to make room for logs and various other things… strangely coloured items that glittered like the eyes of another cat. Marcel did not like this.
Furthermore, he did not like the large intrusion that had been made by a large, spiky tree in the corner of the house. This tree could not be climbed as the needles would stab his paws, and it smelt quite strange… Marcel knew that trees were not for inside the house.

Another thing he did not like was the repetitive sounds coming from a large, black box. It was loud and sounded far too merry for a cat such as Marcel. It sounded, to him, like a strangled cat. Marcel had finer tastes.

After a few weeks of this nonsense, Marcel was fed up. Particularly when his favourite human stopped coming down to feed him at exactly 6:45, due to her lack of promptness, and it was left up to one of the other people to feed him, (at quite an unreasonable hour might he add – lunch time was not a time for breakfast.)

But still, Marcel had the night to wander about the house and find his bed on the stairs, at just an angle that he could see the front door. This is what he held on to when his life felt too upside down for him to handle.

Until one fateful night. Marcel was awoken from his dainty slumber by a loud thump. He stretched his legs and tip-toed down the stairs to see what could have made this noise (but first stopping to scratch his claws on the door mat).
He peeked in to the living room to see a big fat human wearing red (a colour Marcel particularly despised) chomping on what looked like quite a tasty food.

Marcel cautiously walked to the man and sniffed his big, black boot. This startled the old man and he turned with a loud laugh: “Ho ho ho!”
Marcel did not like this sound and he quickly turned and fled to the front door where he could escape at a moment’s notice. Yet the sound of stomping boots followed him. Marcel meowed in fear as the large figure bent over him, his black silhouette darkened the corner in which he sat, and Marcel could smell the stale stench of milk on his breath…
Marcel tried to hiss but nothing would come out, he tried to meow but his family were all fast asleep and they could not hear his cries – who was this man? Why was he here terrorising such a lovely little cat?

And at this thought, the man held out a big, puffy hand. “Merry Christmas Marcel.”
He chuckled and gave the little cat a small treat. Marcel decided that this man was no danger and he took the treat in to his jaws, swallowing it with little effort. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was… His humans had really messed up his eating schedule…

The man turned and headed back inside the living room. Marcel took this as his opportunity to head back to sleep, but this time he nudged open the door to his favourite human’s bedroom and jumped on her bed, just in case anybody else tried to sneak in to the house without his permission. Soon he fell in to a deep sleep…

At exactly 6 o’clock Marcel awoke and padded out to the top of the stairs, ready for his morning meow. His favourite human came out immediately and whispered to him: “Merry Christmas my boy!” to which Marcel purred in reply. That morning Marcel was fed at exactly 6:45, and he had a cuddle with all his humans, (plus a lot of extra treats!) Marcel decided, although he didn’t enjoy these last few weeks, in hindsight they led up to a pretty special day. He didn’t know why it was such a special day, but he realised, (since he was getting so much attention), that it must be a day all for him.

And it was as he settled down that evening on his bed near the fire, his little tummy nice and round from all the food he had eaten, that he thought of the big, fat man in a red suit, a colour which he no longer despised, and how he had laughed when he said: “Merry Christmas Marcel.”
“Maybe not every day has to be the same” meowed Marcel, and he rested his head on his arm, and fell asleep.

On the 1st blog of Christmas…


There once was a forest of Christmas trees
who grew so big and tall
Their needles were green their trunks were strong
but that wasn’t true for all.

Among the trees, the big tall trees
(that grow so tall and spiny)
in to the mighty forest land
There stood a tree so tiny

His needles blue and rounded
His trunk so thin and weak
He stood among the giants
his future seeming bleak

Then it came the season
to chop the trees all down
and the trees all grinned in pride
as they lay upon the ground

Big strong men with thick old gloves
threw them in a cart
and the trees laughed with excitement
as they got ready to depart

But one tree was not happy
his face not filled with glee
the tiny tree thought of Christmas and said
“nobody will want me!”

They trundled through the forest
and drove in to the road
the driver kept on driving
with his big, green, heavy load

T’was not long till they arrived
in the farm for Christmas trees
The trees were all dragged out the cart
and marked with a hefty fee

Except for one poor tree
(who was known for being quite small)
the driver laughed when he placed him down
he said: “He’ll cost nothing at all!”

And how the trees did snigger
and call him horrible names
so the tiny tree looked downwards
his needles dropping in shame

“Just wait until tomorrow,” they laughed
“Let’s see who wants you then!”
and the little tree hid in the back of the farm
hoping that the day would end

And when the morning came
the trees stood tall and proud
except for one little tree
who hid amongst the crowd

And sure enough the people came
the trees went one by one
they wondered who would be picked next
it was a game that was easily won

And as the day progressed
and the day became dark and cold
the gates were shut and left behind
were the trees that could not be sold

And the little tree did cry
He cried for a house to live
He cried when he thought of the families
and all the joy he could give

Soon the morning was here
but the trees seemed pretty sad
except for one little tree
who was almost certainly mad…

He jumped to the front of the line
and stood his trunk up straight
waiting for the perfect family
he stayed up near the gate

Yet all the families ignored him
They went straight to the back
Where stood the tallest Christmas trees
standing together in a pack

But the little tree wasn’t disheartened
He just wasn’t fit for the bin
He stretched out his branches and shivered
Someone would surely pick him

And as he had this thought he listened
Whom had that sweet little laugh?
A little boy ran round the corner
Wearing a red and white scarf

“I cannot wait for Christmas!” he cried
“And all we need is a tree!”
The little tree raised his head and said
“Maybe they will want me!”

“Remember, only a small one”
The mother said to her son
The tree smiled and straightened his trunk
Christmas had just begun!
And as you can surely imagine
The tree was perfect for him!
He was packed on the top of their car
Oh how he felt he could sing!

And soon he was stood in their house
Taller than ever before
And he knew that nothing was better
Than the Christmas that he had in store.

The Headless Dance


The music slowed to a grotesque tempo as the headless men lined the walls, their lined jackets flickering under the light of one thousand wax candles suspended from the ceiling.
The dark, dim room span in slow circles, making the men dizzy with anticipation.
Months had passed and tonight was the night.
Tonight was the night that the headless dance would commence once more.
The headless men waited in the light for their counterparts to reveal themselves from the shadows that they thrive in for weeks at a time, their eyes glinting in the flames of their own dark desire.
As the music picked up speed, the women were enticed forward.
They step in time, their high heeled boots clicking on the cold ground, to the tune of each man’s heartless corpse.
The shadows twirled towards the waiting line, each bony caress of their hands encouraging their heartless chests to beat harder and with an elegant longing
The bodies two by two joined the ballroom floor in a jolting harmony.
Heartbeats beating in heartless ribcages in time to the songless symphony.

They dance in shaky circles; one step left, two steps right,
a simple lift and a silent plight.
Backwards, forwards, left and right,
into the dark, then in to the light
the heartless men come dancing
Their footsteps are advancing
The men move faster, the women resist,
he places a kiss against her wrist,
the blood pumps round to her heart and back,
but the man’s shrivelled heart is empty and black.
His hand takes a hold and she shivers with cold,
her skin becomes pale, his breath becomes stale,
her eyes become wide, he soon slips inside…

Her neck stands alone
She no longer exists
Her heart has been thrown
From the blood on his lips
So the men line the walls and they wait for their chance,
to find their new prize at the next headless dance.


Your heart beats like mine
A little bit soft a little bit sad
Slowed by the dust and the grime
And the sound of the girl I never had.

You miss her too
I know you do don’t you?
I can hear her laugh in your tears.
Don’t you know I feel the same?
I feel that pain and my cries laugh with her smiles too.
You could be my new laugh and I will be your smile
Maybe then you’ll see it’s worth the while
To love someone who isn’t worth loving at all.


Something’s not quite right in the way
She moves and the way she seems to
See everything and think so deeply yet
Feel so empty and full at the same time.
Is she worth something? Or is it just a way
To make the lonely nights seem a little less
Lonely as she dreams of the future that she can not
Just a life time away and yet so far
She stares in to the distance
Where the best of her dances around in the
Grass and the wind and the rain and the sun
And the dance of her life has barely begun
So she lies on the floor and looks up at the sky
Hoping that this will be how she will die.