Just a wish

CHRISTMAS 1962. Bitterly cold. Elvis was crooning on my dad’s wind-up radio. I was nine. Mum was cleaning rich folks’ houses right up to Christmas Eve because Dad was out of work. But he had a plan. M

A s I write this, just a week before Christmas, it’s a wonderfully frantic time in the office as we sign off magazines and race to meet deadlines, all in the hope of enjoying a well-deserved rest over

RIGHT. I have come to a decision,” Mel said one weekend, as she cleared away the breakfast things. “In that case, I’m off. Bye, Mum, see you later!” “Wait, Seth. Stay exactly where you are! You have n

I’m a monster!’ ‘No, you’re not.’ ‘I am actually evil. Look!’ With a sigh, Doug tore himself away from the big game on TV, and glanced at the piece of paper his wife Lisa had thrust at him. ‘You look

THANKS FOR WRITING TO US, WE LOVE HEARING WHAT YOU THINK

WHEN I was little, your gran used to tell me something interesting,” I say. “She said that Boxing Day was when everybody put their Christmas tree and decorations back into their boxes, and it was all