Heard the one about Herod?

You may be forgiven for thinking that I had been abducted by aliens in recent weeks due to lack of postage on the old blog. In actuality, I narrowly missed such a fate. It so happens that a certain motor-savvy friend of mine has an amazing automobile (which goes by the name of Pablo incidentally) in possession of properties associated with alien life forms. It has, no word of a lie, windscreen wipers that sound exactly like Daleks.

When the rain falls it is like a Dalek attack. Much more exciting than any Christmas edition of Dr Who. Even though they managed to blag an appearance from Kylie this year.

So, after avoiding being 'exterminated' in my near death experience with aliens and wild driving in the Northumberland countryside, I thought I should kick off this new year we have stumbled into on the blogosphere. Make it official like.

I shall start this year, however, with a glance to the past. The dim and distant past. A past so far back in history that the word 'blog' would no doubt have met with a chorus of 'Bless you!' if uttered in public. Picture the scene...

A nativity play narrated by adults, with a troupe of adorable children miming the traditional tale. Heart warming and comforting, with bevvies of rosy-cheeked angels and shepherds with stuffed sheep and tea-towels on their heads. Then, behold! A figure of terror. A figure of impressive gravitas. A figure of creative ingenuity in regards to make-up application. My six-year-old mother as Herod.

I love that she is playing, of all the characters that populate the sacred and holy story of Christ's birth, the murderous baddie. One of the cruelest figures in history in fact. And, on all accounts, with great aplomb. Apparently nobody realised it was dear little carrot-top Christine. She could have been a star! We could be living the high life in Hollywood right now. Instead, of course, she took to all the make-up and costume and organisation and creativity of it all. Dash that controlling community spirit of hers! If only she had a more selfish prima donna streak. Fame and fortune would have surely beckoned.

Stories of the past are often fabulously entertaining in retrospect (even from a renowned less-than-sparkling teller of tedious anecdotes) and no doubt, when looking back on the year that is currently laid out before us, there will be many a funny fable to reminisce over. As well as embarrassing hairstyles, outfits and pictures documenting all our monumental mistakes. Bring it on I say.