Flu jabs, dreams, Christmas...

Next week is flu jab week. I am going through with it because we think it is right for Arthur to have it. I will promise him anything if it will make it easier for him, but what do you promise a boy who doesn't want anything, not even pocket money, because he professes that he is happy enough?

Sylvan fell out of bed two nights ago. As midnight neared I scooped him back in, and he muttered something? What was that? "T" he intoned in his sleep, head lolling, "t is a tall letter." School is apparently doing its job.

Christmas looms. The great joy of summer has passed, supposedly marked at the end by the glory of St. Giles's Fair, but trumped by a late heatwave that sent us skittering back to the river to swim and fish and punt. The diversions of Halloween and Guy Fawkes' night lie between us and Christmas, but Christmas - and specifically Father Christmas - dominated our dinner table conversation tonight. We are going to Wales for Christmas, and the boys were speculating about what would happen should we still be en route at the the time the presents arrived, and it became a dreadful mangle of logic meets theology meets Top Gear.

Tonight Arthur couldn't get to sleep because Sylvan wouldn't stop praying. They are both keen on the idea of God (their school is Church of England) so I have offered take them to church on Sunday, and they have willingly accepted. Please wish me luck, for I have never [really] been to church before, and am more than a little daunted.