The local traffic was hideous this morning. Driving through Kenilworth and into Leamington at 8am was like queuing to get into Vfestival but without the bacchanalian blowout at the end. As I drove home last night, in the perpetual darkness this time of year offers, I noticed that some people have already bought pine trees and dressed them up like tarts in tinsel and then covered their properties with 2000 rhythmically flashing coloured lights. I don’t mean to be a scrooge, but 'dudes!', your tree will be dead and void of any needles come the big day, half of the lights will have fused and the Santa will have fell from the top of your porch on at least two occasions and will be minus its head. The inflatable snowman hung from the chimney will be deflating and look more like a hung villain rather than festive décor.
It seems that the roman calendar has been altered whilst I was on the nod and it now reads October, November, Christmas, January. Christmas is of course the time of year when Jesus was in the Walsgrave after giving birth to Santa by caesarean. It ordinarily would have annoyed Jesus being in hospital for Christmas but he quite liked the morphine and would be out by New Year’s Eve anyway.
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