Last night we ventured into the town centre to observe the lighting of the Christmas tree. Carols were sung by a choir of women who were more impressed by artifice than melody. Which did not excite the audience of toddlers, primary-school aged children and parents looking for a night out of thought-free celebration. But it did sound pretty.
The Noodle also became a little bored by Monica Trapaga after a while, so we sloped off to find sugary sustenance somewhere in Civic. A little cafe just off Garema Place had the most astonishing cookies and cream cake. It was like rubber, but sweet and surprisingly enjoyable.
Upon returning to the Christmas Tree precinct the blond announcing person claimed that Santa was coming immediately. But he didn't. They lit the tree - pretty - and went into an odd period of packing up microphones. So many of the families packed themselves up as well. Oddly, as we repaired to the car park, Santa was actually coming in a red convertible.
The Noodle said, 'that's not Father Christmas. That's an old human dressed up in a red suit and a beard.'
The journey home was filled with questions about who Santa is really. The Noodle conjectured that he could find out by a) staying up all night on Christmas Eve or b) leaving a video camera running all night and watching it the next day.
The husband asked how the Noodle's presents appeared on Christmas morning if Santa didn't bring them. The Noodle replied 'this is starting to sound like pseudo-science'.
I laughed before I could stop myself. Pseudo-silence from the back seat.