Festive lunacy is upon us.Yesterday, the local supermarket was full of people staggering under the weight of enlarged duck livers in jars, 'buche de Noel' and daft gold/red china.
It's scary to think that all over France, Spain, the UK and generally a lot of the planet, people are engaged in this PANIC to buy stuff for one day . . . the celebration of the birth of one small human a very long time ago.
Do most people actually remember what the event is? Has the possibility that Marks and Spencer might have run out of their platinum label Christmas puds become more important.
Don't know what I believe, but I'm going to go and do a church crawl on Christmas eve, starting in Pieusse, where Mark is playing their new church harmonium, and then possibly to a freezing abby out in the sticks for midnight mass.
Sorry for Scrooge-like sentiments, but . . . really! I think it was working in advertising for too many years — 'Boot's' Christmas press shows in July complete with log fires, carol singers etc.
Here is a lovely sunrise to evoke peace, reflection and serenity as we head out once more to the shops to cross another vital thing of the Chistmastide list.
Bonnes Fêtes.
No comments:
Post a Comment