My weirdest Christmas: I tried to catch out Santa with a whoopee cushion – but the Big Man outwitted me

I t was Christmas Eve, 1987. The cold war was beginning to emit its last frosty guffs, Thatcher had , and Michael Fish was keeping his head down. In England’s deep south, my sister and I conspired in our bedroom. We are twins: she got the brains; I, being the eldest by a full six minutes, was to inh...

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