I have sympathy for the UK readers who’ve been in the midst of the Christmas battle since sometime early autumn. Dark skies hurling wave after wave of pounding rain on ad-weary shoppers trooping through the throngs in a ground battle to capture ‘this year’s trainers for little Jimmy. “Must haves” defeated by “can’t gets”; “last month’s” battered by “won’t do’s” – words of xmass destruction in a seasonal war of goodwill. And that’s just before the big day. Then follows the aftermath. Nuclear family fallouts over who owns the remote control; days of careful culinary preparation reduced to rubble in a matter of minutes; a famine of gratitude in an epidemic of gluttony.
But despite how it sounds, I’m no Bah Humbug. In fact, I’m a big child when it comes to Christmas. My wishlist runs to chapters, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen et al are played to death and festive trimmings are draped on anything that doesn’t move. But the stress I can do without. Maybe it’s the blue skies, maybe it’s the ..