Why can’t adults have end of term games too?

Every year at this time of year, I hope beyond hope that I’ll turn up at the office to discover that we’re just going to spend the day doing Christmassy crafts or playing board games. Oddly, it hasn’t happened yet.

Those wonderful days at the end of the autumn term, where there was a sense of both gearing up for Christmas and winding down from real work, remain strong in the memory. And judging by my children’s experience, little has changed in the last three decades.

The perennial debate we had as kids was whether the dog days of the autumn term were better than those of the summer term. Plainly the advantages of the latter were that we had the prospect of a full six weeks of holiday ahead, and that some of the activities at school could be done outdoors. At junior school we seemed to spend hour upon hour playing rounders.

Yet there could sometimes be an edge of melancholy as the school year drew to a conclusion. There was always the knowledge that next time we met, it would be under a new regime. Could Mr H possibly be as lovely as Mrs C? What’s more, there might be new kids arriving in September, or old friends departing. We all longed for the July break-up, but it marked a much more definitive end of a mini-era (even more so when it was the last year at a particular school).

Christmas had none of that, so there were no conflicted feelings in that week or so before the hols began. Excitement coursed through the school and work gave way to jollity.

Back then, I genuinely imagined that the paper-chain making and the games were a product of our teachers’ festive kindness; a seasonal treat for their pupils, who had been putting in such great effort all term. I realise now it’s as much a way for the knackered teachers to give themselves a bit of a break after an exhausting four months. And to be fair, once the nativity play has passed off without major incident (or indeed with only a few minor bruises to the shepherds and insignificant stains to the school hall parquet), who can blame them for wanting to give up lesson-planning.

As a parent, seeing the joy that these days bring is surprisingly affecting – maybe that’s the envy talking. Both of my children are even going on class trips to the local panto, which is a significant step up from watching a dodgy VHS recording of Home Alone.

The downside of their term ending is that we will soon be lumbered with the various bits of craft which they have been making at school. My daughter, now at secondary school, is thankfully beyond the junk modelling which passes for festive fun; but my son, in his last year at infant school, is in the eye of that particular storm. Every glass jar, cardboard box or plastic bottle which we have sent him into class with since September is shortly to make a reappearance, probably covered in glue and paint.

Obviously, we will have to express wonderment at everything, even when it’s not precisely clear what a particular item is supposed to be. And we will have no choice but to say of course the Halloween lantern and the Christmas decorations and the cardboard car can be added to an already cluttered home, at least until such time as the novelty has worn off and the Pritt Stick joins begin to fail.

Still, when office Christmas parties are being cancelled left and right (but possibly not in Downing Street), it’s nice that the kids can still have their fun. And if anyone wants to join my nativity production, please let me know. I’m still on the lookout for a donkey, an inn-keeper and some wise men – who this year will bring gifts of gold, frankincense, and masks.