Twas the night before Christmas...

... and against the backdrop of a wilting Christmas tree purchased a little too early, a little too enthusiastically, the elves at 55 Slaidburn Street were buried under metres of tinsel and shiny paper, frantically wrapping presents whilst strategising their plan of action for the imminent Boxing Day sale.

Meanwhile, our little diligent Mistletoe Manager (Jobscope: Make sure everyone under the mistletoe gets a prompt peck on the cheek)laid out the carrots (organic) and mince pies (hand-made) by the fireplace for Father Christmas and his reindeer. (Nothing but the best for our guests, you understand. Especially if they come bearing gifts). While she scampered upstairs to await his slightly tardy arrival, Father 'Mummy' Christmas and Rudolph 'Auntie Val' the Reindeer (are you still with us?) set the scene. While I nonchalantly laid out the presents from Father Christmas - all wrapped in a paper with a jolly Father Christmas repeat pattern which we went to great lengths to ensure she didn't see beforehand, distinctly different from the other monochromed parcels tied with grosgrain ribbons just in case our little sharp cookie noticed that they were all wrapped in the same fashion... nothing escapes her notice these days - Auntie Val busied herself munching through the carrots and mince pies (what can we say, she is a devoted aunt) to leave sufficient compelling evidence (read: bite marks) of a visit from the bearded one.

Upon her return to the lounge afterwards, it was difficult to say whether Saffron was more apprehensive about what Father Christmas had brought her or if we were more nervous about having the entire charade unravelled by a toddler. Having written to Father Christmas to ask for two pairs of high heels, one for going to work and one for going out; a toy fridge and toy soap, Saffron was thrilled to tear open the first parcel to find a pair of very WAG marabou-feathered high heels which she promptly strutted around in. Amidst excited exclamations of I like it, I like it! I'm so happy!, her eyes lit up when she found the toy fridge, complete with light and noisy ventilation fan (note to self: remove batteries when Saffron's not looking). Even the bar of yellow soap she found in her stocking got a I'm so happy I have my own soap! Moving on to the final parcel, Saffron's guess that it was a piece of luggage was quickly superseded by a squeal when she saw that it was a toy cash register complete with scanner, credit card machine and microphone to announce blue light specials. Remembering that she hadn't actually asked for it in her letter to Father Christmas, she exclaimed He was watching! Father Christmas was watching! For months she has been playing pretend cashier using all sorts of receptacles and a lot of imagination to make up cash registers.

In this final (albeit bumper) instalment of shecanroar, we've picked out a selection of photographs* that best depict the mischief our little minx has been getting up to. From air-conducting Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker suite to browsing the Horror section at the local library, spending the day in Leigh-on-Sea having Christmas tea with Nana and visiting little Elise. Saffron also had lunch with her Nanny and enjoyed a game of pretend restaurant. Which is a good game if you like eating pretend food and having your scripted lines fed to you by a precocious three and a half year old. (I am the waitress, you are the customer. Say please can I have the bill.)

Since we're on a roll, it's probably also timely to update everyone on Saffron's interests these days. To get into her good books, mention Little Britain (better still, enact the skits, she knows all the catchphrases); skeletons and monsters; sing punk rock, Lily Allen, KT Tunstall, or Razorlight; show her pictures of blood and gore; offer her some fishballs or fishroe-laden sushi; steer clear of chocolate; or screen The Nutcracker or Coppelia. Or better yet, you could just be the acquiescent co-actor (no room for improv, only scripted lines please) in whichever pretend game she is playing for the day. You could be a colleague in her office, the Santa Claus to her elf, the waiter to her chef, the passenger to her Singapore Airlines girl, the nutcracker to her Clara, the applauding audience to her Lily Allen show, the scarecrow/tinman/lion to her Dorothy, the patient to her overzealous surgeon, the student to her pilates instructor or most endearing of all, the husband to her bride. The options are endless.

On this note, a very happy Christmas to everyone from the Mistletoe Manager and all of us at 55!

x

*Contrary to what the pictures will have you believe, we do not live in Selfridges, Harrods or Harvey Nics.