Christmas comes but once a year

By David Hill In Inbox

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17th December, 2011
Long, long ago, in a youth far, far away, Beth and I spent a Christmas in England. I’d milked my university degree to get a job teaching at a new high school that catered for the sons of Saudi/Egyptian businessmen. Beth milked hers to get a job cleaning rooms in an old hotel that catered for the families of London holidaymakers. We knew our English Christmas was going to be a special one. We’d already given ourselves an advance pressie: she was 7lb 2oz, with Beth’s eyes and my opposed thumbs. We told far-off families all about her in thin blue weekly aerogrammes. We had bought and ...

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