Creative Piece: Children’s Christmas story

Noggin and the Christmas Gift

Hello Dear Reader,

I’ve absolutely loved writing this!

This story first came to me back in September, when I saw a beautiful illustration by the author and illustrator Chris Riddell, whose work I follow on Substack (you can find him here). Chris shares the most magical drawings every morning, and when I saw this one, the story just leapt into my mind, as they sometimes do! From that moment, it’s been a joy to write.

What you’re about to read is a children’s Christmas story about an imaginary friend searching for his companion. I hope it brings you as much delight as it brought me while writing it.

Chris Riddell, Thank you so much for letting me use this illustration.

And in case you’re wondering about the name “Noggin”. It comes from my nephew’s favourite word, inspired by the Rosie and Jim program.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!
xx

Noggin and the Christmas Gift

Noggin was a pixie.
But he wasn’t just any pixie; he was a Marks and Spencer… oh no, sorry children, wrong story!

Noggin was an imaginary friend.

“An imaginary friend?” I hear you say. “But how can an imaginary friend exist if I’m not imagining them?”

Well, that’s a very good question, children. And I’ll tell you.
Things exist before you discover them, before you even think of them.

For example, Leonardo da Vinci dreamed up the idea of a helicopter long before one was ever built. Where did that idea come from? It came to him. Ideas are already out there, waiting. They just need the right moment to show themselves.

It’s the same with you. I know that all of you are brave, strong, clever, and wild. You already have those qualities inside you; they’re just waiting for a chance to shine. Yes, all of you. Even you at the back there! Don’t think I can’t see you.

Do you want more proof? Fine. Think of every story you know. Every hero you’ve read about was already a hero before their big adventure began; they just hadn’t had the chance to prove it yet. (The same is true of villains, of course, but since it’s Christmas, we’ll save that for another time.)

So, are we all on the same page? This page? Good.

All things exist before they exist, and when the time is right, they exist.

Got it?
Oh, good. I knew you would.

So, back to Noggin.

Noggin was an imaginary friend.
But he was an imaginary friend without a friend.

You say, “Awww.”
Well done, children. Right on cue!

He had been without a friend for quite some time.
Now you say another, “Awwwwww,” but this time longer and more dramatic.

Perfect. Thank you, children.

But don’t worry, this is a Christmas story. It all works out in the end.

Noggin’s last friend was Jinny. She’d grown up now, but oh, the adventures they’d had together! They’d eaten her brother’s doughnuts, rolled down a hill so many times they were nearly sick, climbed a tree, fallen out of a tree onto the family picnic, brewed flower potions, learned to ride a bike, and once got so completely covered in mud they looked like a sea monster ready to hug the first person they saw in white trousers.

But now Jinny was busy doing grown-up things and role-playing grown-up ways. (So boring when people do that!)

Jinny’s Nan, Mabel, was much more fun. She wore every colour under the sun and owned a dazzling collection of hats. She told stories, played games, and even let Noggin join in her mischief-making.

But there are rules to these things. And Mabel… Mabel could never be his friend.

These days it was becoming harder and harder for pixies to find friends. Harder than ever! Why? Because no one really wanted to play anymore.

Most of the imaginary games, the stories, the make-believe adventures; they’d all been taken over by technology. Technology, I tell you! It sneaks in and takes all the jobs. Children were too busy gobbling up information like it was chocolate cake, instead of playing.

And don’t they know how magical a stick can be? Or a stone? A stick can be a sword, a wand, a dragon-slayer, or if the magic doesn’t quite work, it’s very good for bopping someone over the head. (Noggin thought those sorts of games were hilarious, though they did have a habit of getting Jinny into trouble… Weird!)

Anyway, loads of Noggin’s old pixie friends had given up on playing altogether. They’d switched jobs, focusing more on plants and flower management. Apparently, there’s a higher demand for looking after plants these days.

But Noggin didn’t want that. Not at all. Noggin wanted to play. He wanted to go on adventures. He wanted to tell stories and hear stories. He wanted to be wild and free.

Noggin wanted to be an imaginary friend again.

So he decided to go off in search for the child who was looking up.

He looked, and he looked.
But all he could find were children with their eyes cast down, their faces glowing blue.

You have to look up, children. That’s where all the imaginary things live.

So Noggin set off on his adventure to find a friend.
He hopped onto his favourite leaf, which carried him high above the rooftops and into the heart of the city.

Everywhere he went, Christmas was waiting.

The streets below sparkled with fairy lights that criss-crossed from lamppost to lamppost. Shop windows glowed with toy trains that puffed tiny clouds of steam, dolls slumped on stands waiting for a wanting hand to pick them up, and towers of chocolate stacked higher than Noggin himself.

Everywhere he looked, the city was alive with Christmas. Carollers in woolly scarves sang on street corners while people bustled by with bags crammed full of presents. Food stalls steamed with roasted chestnuts and sweet, sticky toffee apples. The smell of cinnamon, oranges, and hot chocolate danced, making Noggin’s nose twitch with delight.

At the big square in the middle of the city stood a Christmas tree so tall it scraped the stars. Baubles the size of pumpkins glimmered, and strings of lights curled around it like golden ribbon. At the very top, a star shone so brightly that Noggin almost mistook it for one of his own pixie cousins.

But still, as magical as it all was, the children didn’t look up. Their heads were bent down, their faces glowing blue with those little screens. Noggin sighed. If only they would lift their eyes, even for a moment, they might see him sailing past on his leaf, ready for mischief and adventure.

He swooped down a side alley and drifted into a nearby park, just about ready to give up when all of a sudden!

There, by a bench, sat a child. He was swinging his legs and scuffing his shoes against the ground while his mother, her arms overflowing with shopping bags, chatted away to another grown-up human being.

The child looked up and let out a sigh. Not just any sigh, a true, honest, bone-deep, world-weary sigh of boredom. The sigh drifted up like a cloud, curling higher and higher until it reached Noggin, still circling above the city on his leaf. He froze. His ears twitched. His heart gave a little skip.

Now, children, there’s something you ought to know about imaginary friends.
They don’t just pop up whenever they like. Oh no, there are rules.

We already know you have to look up. And of course, you can’t be buried in one of those glowing blue screens. But there’s another secret rule, the most important one of all.

It’s called the gift of boredom.

Imaginary friends love boredom. They wait for that perfect moment when a child sighs and groans, “There’s nothing to do!” Because do you know what boredom really is? It’s space. It’s a wide-open door. It’s an empty room waiting to be filled with dragons, and pirates, and enchanted forests, and sea monsters made of mud.

And right there, on that park bench, the child was bored. Wonderfully, gloriously bored. He kicked his shoes against the ground, swung his legs, and sighed the kind of sigh that echoed straight up into the sky.

And Noggin heard it.

Noggin grinned.

He leaned forward, and the leaf swooped down toward the park bench. Snowflakes scattered in his wake, tumbling like confetti.

There was the child, legs swinging, shoes scuffing, eyes glazed with the wonderful dullness of having nothing to do. And at last. At last! The child looked up.

For a moment, nothing moved. The lights of the city glimmered, the chatter of grown-ups hummed, and the frosty air hung still between them.

Then Noggin gave the tiniest wave. Just a flick of his little hand.

The child blinked. His eyes widened. And slowly, as if afraid the magic might vanish if he moved too quickly, he smiled.

And that was it. Connection made. The rules had worked. The door was open.
An imaginary friend was no longer imaginary.

Noggin zipped down from his leaf and landed right on the child’s knee with a bounce.

“About time!” he whispered, brushing snow from his boots. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for a proper sigh?”

The child blinked again. “You… you’re real?”

“Of course I’m real! Imaginary friends are always real. You just have to notice.” Noggin gave a cheeky grin. “Now then, fancy an adventure?”

The child nodded, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Excellent,” said Noggin, clapping his tiny hands. “Hold on.”

With that, the leaf swooped down and scooped them both up, lifting high above the park. The child gasped as the city spread out below, glittering with Christmas magic. Lights shimmered across every street, carollers’ voices floated up in harmony, and the enormous Christmas tree in the square sparkled so brightly it looked like it was made of stars.

They whirled past shop windows where toy trains puffed smoke rings and dolls secretly waved when no grown-ups were watching. They zoomed over a bakery, where the smell of gingerbread swirled around them like a sweet, warm hug. They swooped low over the ice rink, and Noggin laughed as the leaf ruffled hats and scarves, sending skaters wobbling and tumbling in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Quick!” Noggin cried. “Look there!”

At the edge of the square stood a line of snowmen, each one decorated with carrots, scarves, and buttons. But as the leaf drifted by, the snowmen seemed to wink, shifting ever so slightly when no adult was looking. The child gasped again, this time with delight.

“See?” Noggin said, his voice full of triumph. “The whole city is alive with Christmas magic. You just have to play along.”

And for the first time in a long time, the child laughed; a proper, bubbling laugh that echoed through the night.

Noggin beamed. He had a friend again. And better still, an adventure had only just begun.

The leaf swooped them down into the bustling Christmas market. They landed beside a stall piled high with gingerbread men. The smell was so delicious that Noggin’s nose twitched uncontrollably.

“Watch this,” he whispered. With a flick of his fingers, the gingerbread men wiggled their raisin eyes and marched in a tiny parade. The child laughed so hard he nearly toppled off the leaf. Shoppers gasped, blaming the wind, while Noggin snatched one biscuit for himself and tossed another to his friend. “Fuel for adventurers!” he said, crumbs dusting his chin.

Next, they drifted past a choir singing carols beneath the great city tree. Noggin pinched a single golden note from the air, rolled it into a ball, and popped it like a bubble. Poof! A cloud of shimmering sound drifted down, and suddenly all the pigeons in the square began cooing in perfect harmony with the singers. The choir carried on proudly, not even noticing, but the child clutched their sides, giggling till tears ran down their cheeks.

Farther along, strings of fairy lights dangled from lampposts. Noggin winked at his new friend. “Shall we?”

With a snap, the lights began to blink out of order, swirling and flashing like a giant game of chase. One set shaped itself into a glittering arrow, pointing the way forward. “The city wants us to keep going!” Noggin cried, and the leaf darted off in the glowing trail.

At last, they skimmed past a very serious man in a very serious suit. He was muttering at his phone, too busy to notice the magic all around him. Noggin stuck out his tongue. “Needs a bit of cheer, that one.”

Before the child could answer, the leaf swirled above and shook loose a whole branch of snow right onto the man’s head. He spluttered, wiped his glasses, and looked around furiously. But by then Noggin and his friend were already halfway across the square, laughing so hard their sides ached.

And as the leaf soared back into the starry sky, the child realised something wonderful: boredom was gone. In its place was adventure, friendship, and Christmas mischief.

Just as they were about to go on their fifth adventure, the mother’s arms reached through the magic. “Come on now, darling, it’s time to go home. We can put on a movie if you like.”

The child looked up at Noggin, eyes questioning.

Noggin, sitting proudly on the edge of the leaf, nodded. “Do you have a garden?”

“No, we live in a flat,” said the child. “But we have a park around the corner, and I have toys in my room.”

“Perfect.” Noggin’s grin spread across his face. “Now let’s go home and play. But first…grab that stick!”