I'm so glad that naughty Peter Kay brought a smile.
When Andy the Chaplain popped by I asked if any of the 3 nearby churches (no longer called Citadels) were having Carol Services and if so, did he think anyone would come and take me to one?
It was a shock to learn that the old fashioned carol service is no longer held but a sort of bash crash group will belt out some modern stuff durng a regular Christmas Day service. No thanks.
Not for someone who remembers the Sallies Brass Band marching up our cobbled street every Christmas to play proper carols to everyone's delight.
Various churches have left leaflets in my mail box telling me I would be so heartily welcome to join them for Carols by Candle Light and mince pies afterwards but I know from long experience that I am less than welcomes if I need a lift.
When Karen and I went shopping, we parked near an elderly lady sitting on a folding chair outsie the laundrette.
She was a busker but couldn't sing for toffee and her mumbled repertoire and desultory strum on a guitar, consisted of 'I Saw Three Ships' over and over again.
Karen and I made donations and I called out Happy Christmas. Neither of us were acknowledged in any way.
Almost everyone who passed threw a coin into her dish.
Finally, she picked up what was clearly a sizeable haul, went into the laundry, collected her clean, dry and folded goods and shuffled away.
My cyncical mood was lifted when once again I was waiting in a carpark while K went marketing. Everywhere is so crowded, even a pre-paid package takes ages to collect.
It had recently rained but the sun was shining and the huge trees all along the periphery were waving wildly in the strong, southerly wind.
As I looked up, I saw the massive Totaras were all a-spangle with droplets like a thousand diadems.
Trees, magical trees never fail to lift my spirits. 
Times article claim that Waspi women are tone deaf and should read the room


normal weather for December in fact.
.
and I hope you have a lot of 'ho ho ho' too. 

to Full English but in Bradford, no true Yorkshire tyke would contemplate anything other than pork pie and pickles.



