A Star was Born...

As parents, we tried to squeeze a little religion into our young children's lives. Well, at least at Christmas time. Carols, Christingles, and the Crib service: that sort of thing. Though one Christingle almost came to an unholy end when our four year old son was so busy chatting to his sister that he scorched the hood of the child's anorak in front of him. Only a lunge that the Angel Gabriel would have been proud of from the Playgroup leader, Mrs Baxter, saved the day.

So now it's back to Nativity plays as an introduction to the festive season.  We attended our grandson's this week. I was looking forward, apart from anything else, to seeing my High Street purchases brought to life. I had been a little bit chuffed that I had so successfully kitted out a  shepherd.
I have a lot to learn, it seems, about dressing a six year old.
The scarf I'd bought had been tied round his head like a bandanna, so he looked like a renegade from Pirates of the Caribbean, or a Ninja Turtle. So not exactly what you'd call a conventional shepherd.
The wonderful ethnic shawl gave him grief through out the whole performance: he grappled with it as if it had a life of its own. But not losing a single cue - every word and action, bang on the button. It was a treat that not even the halo of the angel in front could obscure.
Mark Rylance, apparently, was never allowed to play Joseph in the Nativity plays, as his mother directed them, and she felt it would have been favouritism to have given him a named part.
"I was a shepherd for f****ing ages," he moaned.
So being a shepherd can be an apprenticeship for great things...