On the walk to school with my daughter. She was born on Christmas Day. Tomorrow we celebrate her ninth birthday.

“So did a man just decide one day to walk to the North Pole and live there and give out presents?”
“He’s not a man. He’s the Spirit of Winter.”
“So magic exists?”
“He’s an Idea. Does the Labour Party exist?”
“Yes.”
“Labour is an Idea. Different people take turns to embody that Idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve always told you the same thing. Father Christmas is a story, and if we believe that story, then he is real.”
“I don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy.”
“Well, then it’s not real.”
“And how does Father Christmas fit all the world’s presents into one sack?”
“It’s not a sack. It’s a metaphor. He’s the spirit of winter. In a thousand years, he will look entirely different, he won’t wear a red suit and carry a sack – he might be an android with a silver surfboard – but he will still exist.”
“I believe in the spirit of winter.”