No, it’s just a little
Yes, it’s that time of year again, and there’s evidence that work has begun, The Man is on his rounds.
The sun shone and the temperature rose. Crowds gathered. Lichen was in short supply and the air was filled with mulled wine, – and chips.
Once a year the local town fights back. All too conscious of bigger places less than 10 miles away with glories like indoor malls and out-of-town retail parks, the small places have to do a bit more to get a wee share of the festive spend.
And so on a Sunday, shortly before Christmas the shops open their doors, the reindeer are invited to stop by, and the crowds abandon any thoughts of heading for the queues at the car parks in the big cities. Pester Power wins, and children large and small are seen smiling, some adults too, for the pubs are open. Buggies are pushed to the railing and the roads closed to traffic. There is a parade. Bells ring.
And The Great Man is hauled in his sleigh, by his trusted friends. Joining him are the winners of the primary schools’ poster competition. His faithful followers sing carols. Stalls and fairground rides do a roaring trade.
And local businesses keep a little bit of what could so easily go elsewhere. But in other parts those buggies could be filled with girning; tempers could be frayed as parking spaces disappear. Stress levels may rise.
So thankful of missing that, filled with the warmth of goodwill and with happy weans, it was back to aunties for hot soup, mince pies and roasted chestnuts.
And as always there’s a little something under the tree, and plenty of chocolate on it. This year we ended up with the melodies of massed mouthies; only a bagpipe and banjo ensemble could possibly sound worse.
But Christmas is coming, and next up is that school show, at the local theatre, assuming of course we can get the scenery in place. Lights, camera….