Away in a Manger

I went to see Hannah's Nativity play yesterday. And it was sweet, and endearing, and I almost had a tear or two.

But it's not like it is on the telly.

Is that a cruel thing to say?

The kids were normal. And the costumes were home grown in a sort of very home-grown way. And the grown-ups were crammed into a classroom, most insisting on standing rather than sit on the seats because if they sat down they wouldn't be able to see their little darlings. And the room was full of the clicks, whirs and beeps of digital cameras and video cameras. And the singing wasn't in tune. And the kids didn't always remember their words or actions. And the coffee afterwards was instant coffee. And the mince pies were tiny. And I ended up talking to Father Matthew. And the room was so hot I nearly fainted (slight exaggeration – I have never fainted.) And the damn teacher is too pretty and too young. Actually she is perhaps the only thing that could have lived in Tellyland. And Father Bob was complaining he has to sit through 17 of these plays and by the end he's sick to death of Away in a Manger.

[Talking to Father Matthew got a bit sticky when discussing the church car park lack of capacity on a Sunday morning as it's not something I know a lot about, oops. But actually, as vicars go (am I'm not saying I know whether this one does go or doesn't), he was OK company.]