You must have seen the ads, they’re everywhere at this time of year, and if they catch you in a hyper-parenting mood you can find yourself thinking, if we don’t do it now it’ll be too late.
Then you look at the cost and think, perhaps next year.
Except we didn’t. We took the kids, Ben and Hannah, to meet Father Christmas – the real one, in Lapland, not one of the ersatz ones that stalk department stores, putting the grot into grotto.
To read the rest of this article, see Guardian Travel or Bad Mothers Club
