On The Twelfth Day of Christmas My Mother Said To Me

Mother calls to remind me that it is time to take the Christmas decorations down. "I know," I tell her. "I probably should have done it before the kids went back to school but I can never bring myself to. I wish I could leave them up for the whole of January to be honest." "Oh no!" Mother exclaims in horror. "You can't do that! It's terribly bad luck to leave them up after Twelfth Night." And why would that be? I feel like asking. Will a nasty beardy man called Herod come and slit Small Boy's throat if there are still fairy lights around the door on 6th January? Will three wise visitors arrive bearing gifts and then sorrowfully tell me that they are not for me and could I please point them eastwards? "Are you listening?" Mother says. "Yes, sorry, just looking at the decorations and feeling sad," I say. "Well if the Christian church hadn't ruined the perfectly good festival of Saturnalia we wouldn't have to worry about Christmas decorations at all!" says Mother, gleefully. "Yes mother," I say. It's normally the best response when such topics arise, I have found. Even if there are a million other responses I can think of. "So you won't forget, will you?" she continues. "Sorry, forget what?"  "To take the decorations down. We can't start the new year with bad luck. Not after last year. And it was a terrible year, wasn't it--?" "Yes, no - I won't forget," I cut in hastily before I am subjected to a re-run of Mother's Annus Horribilis speech. As I put down the phone I ponder over the many superstitions I have been brought up with. Mother's list of Things That Will Bring Bad Luck include: Crossing on the stairs Walking under ladders Throwing salt over your shoulder after you've accidentally spilt some Horseshoe hung upside down over a door Breaking a mirror (SEVEN WHOLE YEARS BAD LUCK for this one) Seeing one magpie (she always commanded that we quickly look for another - although I would say more than one is worse, the pests...) Putting new shoes on the table "What was Grandma calling about?" asks Small Boy. I tell him and explain about the superstitions. "It's funny, though," I say. "Because I was born on Friday 13th, and she's never said anything about that." "FRIDAY 13th?" exclaims Small Boy with a shiver. "Ooo, no wonder she's never mentioned that." "Oh. Why?" "That would be like admitting that she's the mother of a zombie-vampire," he says, raising one eyebrow. "And that would be the worst luck of all." I suppose he's got a point there. Although if that nasty beardy man did come and try to slit Small Boy's throat, maybe I could take a chunk out of his neck in revenge.