The first sign that something was wrong was the flashing blue light behind me.

The police car pulled alongside me and the policeman signalled to me to pull over, which I did immediately, by meandering out of the road and onto the pavement, where I stood perfectly still.

“What exactly,” began the policeman, “do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m, err, going home. Well, to my parents home.”

“You do realise it is 4am on Boxing Day morning, don’t you, and what is that?” he said pointing at my head.

“It’s a fairly poorly fitting santa hat.”

“And those?”

“Oh, they’re my jeans, which I have rolled up to the knees.”

“Why?”

“So I can play football.”

“Football?”

“Yes, err, keepy-uppies. Whilst walking home with my brother. You see I beat him at Wii Sports earlier on this evening, so now he wants to prove that he’s better at real sports, and what better way to do that than whilst walking home on Christmas Day evening after spending fifteen hours drinking? He’s the one staggering up ahead by the way. The one with the football, and no Santa hat. This is my trophy from earlier you see.”

“Right. Well, if you could be on your way and try to and keep the ball out of peoples gardens, that’d be great.”

“Thanks, and Merry Christmas!”

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