End of the Working Year

The doors shut at twelve noon, or just after as a woman entered as we were locking the door, and I will not reopen them until January.  How nice to be free form it for a while.  How nice for them all to forget work and enjoy life once again.  Family gatherings, holidays in the sun, short periods in jail, all these are ahead of us during the next few days.  My fridge is full of everything I need except that one thing I will be missing when I find what one important missing thing is, then there will be trouble.   Folks were filling the shops late into the afternoon, many men only now beginning to realise that they have a wife at home and no present and they have to leave the pub and go get her whatever it is she wanted whatever that was.  
Passing down the High Street I noticed a lot of bright yellow jackets hanging around.  The sight of one young man making off and haring down an alleyway pursued by one bright yellow jacket indicated something was amiss.  The yelling, screaming lassie, hands waving foul mouth in action, indicated others were involved, as indeed was drink!  For some time the populace forgot their worries and watched as these lower orders, and lower orders indeed they were, assisted the security staff with their work.  As I passed on two ambulance vehicles and a two police vehicles arrived.  They are never there when you want them and when they turn up there are loads of them  arresting you, well that's what I find anyway.
Now here's a thing, in Australia soon enough kids will be up early tearing open overpriced presents and still demanding more.  In the UK folks have still to get home from work, the shops, the pub, to wrap said presents, and in parts of the USA people are reaching for coffee to aid their entrance into the world yet again.  If Santa existed how would he overcome that I ask?   
Anyway it's teatime here, I can tell by the burning smell from the cooker, so I leave you while I go and hang my largest football sock up and await developments.

Christmas by John Betjeman
 
The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall ?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.

Time & Date