Pick a god, any god

In school today, we had to pick a god, any god, and write a little descriptive essay about it. I chose Zeus, but other gods are available, all imaginary.
But onto the main event. Over the Xmas holidays, we were all challenged to read a lot. Ben said he'd read the most but spent the entire hols on the DS and only remembered at the last minute so only scored 30 pages.
Lucy came second with 400 but I wiped the metaphorical floor with my 500 and something pages, all Potter. The teacher awarded me a WHSmith pre-paid gift card, but it doesn't say how much money is on it, it could just be an empty card for all I know.
Then we had some kind of pantomime, put on by a visiting peripatetic troupe of turnpike troubadours who jumped, acted and sang. I'm sure it had kings and princesses and bad guys in it, but I'll be blowed if I could remember what it was, something like Peter Pan but not ...
Recently we bought a 15 centimetre Russian artillery shell together with a 15 centimetre Imperial German shell case dating from 1917, as you do. But when they arrived, it was immediately obvious to the trained eye that the German shell was in fact only 10.5 centimetres, and we've already got 3 of those.

So after much haranguing and renegotiation, we agreed to ship it back to the original vendor (did I mention he lives in Holland?) for a refund. Having packed it beautifully, we took it to the Post Office who said yes, sir, that'll be £37. We informed her that verily, she could insert said shell, by jingo, forsooth, but she may have been a trifle deaf, because she looked quite pleased.
So we brought the shell right back home again, both a failed arms importer, and a failed exporter. Then the nice estate agent rang to say that the house we were going to view this evening had been sold to someone else over the weekend. Then the online payment for a real actual 15cm shell failed because the bank system refused to recognize Belgium as a country, something they've had trouble with before.
Then Grandad rang to say he'd phoned an old friend from 1956 who didn't remember him, but also could not recognize England, although he may have been imagining it. I have all this to look forward to. Later at Cub Scouts my name was drawn out of the hat to go to Scout Laser Quest at the Royal Naval Dockyard. But it clashed with my swimming lesson so Bud wouldn't let me go. I couldn't faerie queen believe it, and it took prawns, prawn crackers and a promise to Quest on half-term with Jof to mollify me.