Ho! Ho! …No? Humbug, anyone?

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Unless you’re an “expert” – in which case you’re a parental monster.

A recent article in this paper, titled “Parents urged to stop pretending Father Christmas is real”, reported on a piece in The Lancet Psychiatry journal. Apparently, this cheery item, by a psychologist and a social scientist, suggests that parents should stop saying Father Christmas exists, in case this hideous lie damages their relationship with their children.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Yes, these cheerless souls are indeed advising you that you’re a bad parent for lying to your kids that Santa is real.

I gracefully accept my position as a grumpy guardian of society, standing up to the irritations and rank stupidity of the world, ensuring my glass is always at least half empty and generally being the one that lowers the enjoyment factor of any situation.

I was horrified to see a photo on Facebook from a niece last week, who already has her Christmas tree up and decorated. Clearly, the grumpy Grenville gene didn’t get passed on to that one.

But even I, king of the miserabalista, can’t let this one go. Are we really living in age where some intellectuals have got nothing better to do that tell us we’re damaging children because we said Father Christmas exists?

I’d argue that the simple, magical, thrill of anticipation – of wondering if the big guy in red is coming - is a joy that parents and children share together for an all-too-brief time. Any so-called damage it causes is massively outweighed by all the positive moments of bonding, excitement and pleasure it creates.

Sure, it’s a disappointment when you realise it isn’t true, but I saw it as a milestone to me growing up. It meant I was no longer just a little kid.

I don’t have children. I don’t think that excludes me from understanding this, though – I was a child once (a depressingly long time ago), I’ve got nephews and nieces, and I’ve not seen any damaged relationships thanks to the shocking reveal.

2016 has been a depressing year in many ways. Brexit bothers, Trump triumphs, people we loved from the worlds of music, film & TV dying, nightly horrors on the news... Being grown up can be a pretty harsh experience.

For the briefest of times, children believe that someone living at the North Pole knows them (and their naughtiness ranking) yet still delivers a bunch of presents that are exactly what they wanted.

When I realised, I didn’t stop trusting my Mum and Dad. I loved them even more for managing to sneak into an excited kid’s bedroom and leave a stocking full of presents without me noticing, and tried to make sure my little brother got to believe for as long as possible.

Thanks, experts – well-intentioned I’m sure. But Santa Claus IS coming to town. Anyway, must dash – I’ve got a meeting with the Tooth Fairy shortly, and I need to feed the Unicorn before I go.

This post first appeared as my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 2nd of December 2016. You can view the version used on their website here - after all, it's the only way you'd find it, as they hide it.

Honestly - bloody experts. I bet they're loads of fun at parties, too.

Well, thanks to all the 'Class' hits, this blog had it's biggest month ever, with more than 4000 views in November. Amazing. I shall now plunge headlong back into obscurity. It did get me pondering the idea of compiling the columns into a book again, although it this stage it could be several books. A best of, maybe?

(CD A:Z on hold again, for a new/old one from Alison Moyet - "Essex" in a 2CD deluxe version. I only had it on cassette...)

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