Alexia Golez

Simon McGarr, Wordsmith of Tuppenceworth and walking barrel of Wit, is today’s selection boxer. (I secretly wish this was an endless Selection Box. Nyom, nyom).

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When Alexia asked me for a morsel to add to her selection box, I imagined a grand theory of everything set out in 1,500 words. Every one of them would have been polished until the meaning gleamed off the screen. It would have been like looking at one and a half thousand of Tom Cruise’s teeth laid out in a geometric grid.

Instead, it’s Christmas morning, everyone else is getting washed and ready to visit everyone else (but different everyone elses) and I’m banging out what few words I can between being shown Thomas’ latest adventure.

But I suppose really that has been the essence of the year for me. Whatever I aimed or intended to do has taken second place to looking after my small son’s wants and needs. And I haven’t even had to think about which I prefer. The plans of mice and men are tattered rags beside a small smile.

I warned you it was a finger of fudge. Too small, and much too sweet.