h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I must have been wearing this cardigan yesterday when my son and his family dropped in, because a whiff of baby sick just drifted into my olefactory scope.

Yesterday, you see, was St Nikolaus. Sho and I have probably mentioned this loads of times. My son is one of the half dozen men in the community who dress up as the Bishop Nikolaus and go round visiting families with young children, giving them presents, and telling them off for their little sins.

The parents have ordered this service (he doesn't just turn up willy-nilly! ... but don't tell the children that!) and the fee that is paid goes to some good cause. The Nikolaus players get a petrol voucher, but some of the parents also give them a tip - anything from a bar of chocolate to twenty Euros. At the end, they all sit down together in the church rooms and have a huge meal.

While he was gallivanting round the village, his wife and baby sat with us. Littl'un was in quite a state about something. Perhaps he's getting teeth.

If youth is wasted on the young, perhaps teeth are wasted, too. That would mean more teeth were available for us .

When we first had children and lived in a titchy village (425 inhabitants) I had no idea St Nick would call round - he just turned up with his 4 blacked up helpers rattling chains. Frightened the pants off me! but he came in, read from his book and left some sweeties. (later I took a donation to the fire service volunteers with some cookies because I didn't have any money, not expecting him to turn up)

The following year I had a baby of 4 months and a nearly-2 year old. I was prepared, but when he turned up...

We lived in a house divided into 2 flats - we were the bottom one, which meant our front door opened onto a small hallway, and then the main door to the house.

... I opened our door, and left it open, then with the baby in my arms opened the other door. #1 Gruesome (for it was she) saw this huge bearded bishop guy, and one blacked up assistant with chains and slammed the door closed. I, of course, had no key.

It took me ages to talk her into opening the door. St Nick, his helpers and I were all mortified.

The years following that were fine.

Ho ho ho!

That sounds like a tradition more honoured in the breach than the observance: four blacked-up helpers rattling chains!

Ours are attended by altar boys and girls. No great theatricals...

Village life, eh?

I think the fact that we are so close to the Netherlands means we have a few imported traditions.

I've moved now and the Gruesomes are about to leave school (yes, you might need a sit down on seeing that) so I'm not sure if they still do it