Christmas as a kid. Back when everything was tinged with magic. Advent calendars that were biblical scenes, just card and glitter. An advent candle that burned down a little each day, berry red, filling the kitchen with a sweet, cinnamon smell. Fairytale of New York playing on repeat. Snow that came up over the tops of my wellies. Mittens and hats and sledging down the big hill out in the sticks. The coal fire, notes to Father Christmas sent up the chimney. Waking up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, presents in pillow cases having miraculously appeared at the foot of the bed, wrapped in foil paper. Me and my brothers clambering onto our parents bed to wake them up. Back when it was all uncomplicated, blissfully simple, picturesque even. What I wouldn't give to relive it all, to be carefree again, naive to real world problems and happily unaware that it would ever be any different.