Now in his second year of visiting, Mr Old Elf had been knocking round for the past ten days. He hasn’t wreaked any major havoc but he’s keeping a close eye on the Jordan lads. Dominic appears at the side of our bed by 6am each day in December pretending he needs a wee. It’s an entirely transparent ploy to get us up and sure why don’t we have a look at what elf is at on the way back to bed (if we’re lucky). You know what? I’m not going to fight it, the eye-rolling four year old (who claims to know absolutely everything) eyes light up when he sees what Mr Old Elf is at. Except for that night I came home after a few glasses of wine to my husband asleep on the sofa. Off I went to the scratcher, oblivious to Mr Old Elf’s whereabouts. 545am the next morning, I respond to Dom’s arrival and a sudden moment of clarity by kicking and hissing at my husband. “Where’s the flippin’ E. L. F., find him!” I went downstairs, where Dom turned to me in the living room after a thorough scan of the room. I was sure we were rumbled. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the fairy door…”Mr Old Elf must be still in Santa’s North Pole.” I start to correct him that Santa doesn’t actually own The North Pole, then realise that’s terribly pedantic and I’ve gotten away with it. We set off up the stairs and he sees the light on in the office (er, box room), and there Elf is, looking at Lego online. He had been retrieved from under a sleeping two year old, FYI. High five husband, high five. So we’re doing okay. He’s just as popular a ritual this year as last, I just really have to watch out for weekend wine interruptions.
Here’s what he’s been up to so far: