Dear SantaPerhaps you remember me?
I was the skinny five-year-old boy with Roy Orbison glasses that queued for two hours to sit on your knee at the Chequers Shopping Centre in Maidstone in 1974.
I recall asking you for an Evil Kenevil Stunt bike, and that I was somewhat disappointed when I open my parcels that Christmas to discover you'd sent me a Six Million Dollar Man (with roll back skin and circuit boards plus moving eyes) instead.
Still, I understand you're a busy man and God knows we all make mistakes - even you Santa.
Like the first year I came to Sweden and you came round to my sister-in-law's house to hand out presents to her three small children. I knew something was wrong when you almost set the house on fire by dropping the lantern as you fell through the front door. You were so drunk you couldn't read the labels on any of the presents and I ended up opening a My Little Pony by mistake.
So you more than anyone will understand that nobody's perfect. which is why I'm hoping you'll be a little lenient on me this Christmas time because, quite frankly, I've been a really bad blogger this year.
Things started off so well. I posted practically every day and emails zipped back and forth with people from all over the world (including lots from people from several African nations whose fathers had all mysteriously died simultaneously in a failed military coup and wanted me to help them collect $50 million from a hidden war chest).
Then, as quickly as it started, it suddenly stopped. I somehow couldn't find the time to blog anymore, which I concede is a lame excuse that ranks alongside "I thought you said you were on the pill".
What makes it even worse is that so many people have taken the time to write to me to say they liked my blog and that even though their comments made me feel great and I fully intended to reply and say thanks, I didn’t.
So as you can see I've been bad - very bad, and I really don't expect very much this Christmas other than the odd pair of socks, aftershave lotion endorsed by some has-been sports star and maybe that nasal hair trimmer I've never wanted.
But I promise things are soon going to change. I'm turning over a new leaf Santa, you mark my words. From the New Year I'm going to make time for my blog and answer my emails. I’m also going to start going to the gym, floss my teeth regularly and stop locking myself in the toilet with a good book to escape the children.
So Merry Chrístmas to you Santa. I may be a bit too big to sit on your knee these days, but I always look forward to you coming round. Just promise to slow down a bit on the brandy this year, OK?