Enda looks backwards. It beats looking in the mirror
The first of these truths is that there is no big red dude flying around the sky bringing us presents on Christmas Eve.
I'm sorry if that comes as news to you – after all, I'm repeatedly informed that this column appeals only to the most juvenile of minds. But I'd still like to believe that the average reader is mentally, at least, in their mid-teens, which is the age I finally realised there was no Santa.
That was an awkward conversation with the folks, I can tell ya.