summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
Thousands of people moving at a pace that would put a snail to shame.
Prams the size of the Titanic.
Losing your list.
Queues barely moving.
Tat everywhere.
Every shop you enter assaults the ears with 'seasonal music'.
Barely buy a quarter of the things you wanted.
People who think washing is an optional extra.
Every shop assistant adorned with garish Christmas paraphernalia, usually topped of with some execrable head ornamentation.
Give up and go to the pub, only to find office workers released from their mundane drudgery, hogging the bar with their lurid cocktails and half pints of fizzy lager, drunkenly singing Slade and Wizard songs while you struggle to catch the attention of the ditzy barmaid.
Go home, make a new list and do it all tomorrow.
Happy Christmas
Prams the size of the Titanic.
Losing your list.
Queues barely moving.
Tat everywhere.
Every shop you enter assaults the ears with 'seasonal music'.
Barely buy a quarter of the things you wanted.
People who think washing is an optional extra.
Every shop assistant adorned with garish Christmas paraphernalia, usually topped of with some execrable head ornamentation.
Give up and go to the pub, only to find office workers released from their mundane drudgery, hogging the bar with their lurid cocktails and half pints of fizzy lager, drunkenly singing Slade and Wizard songs while you struggle to catch the attention of the ditzy barmaid.
Go home, make a new list and do it all tomorrow.
Happy Christmas