Well, now the time of gaudy baubles has come to a close. Here we are left with the woolly jumpers we did not even realise we ever wanted. All else that remains are those odd sweets left forlorn in the bottom of the tin that no-one in the known universe seems to like, what else is there to do but comfort ourselves with the memory of the sprouts and how we will not look upon their like again.
At least, not until next year when the whole business rolls around again like a politician seeking votes at election time.
However, until then we have this thing we like to call life that we need to get on with, even though, little of it seems to bear any tangible relationship to that offered in the brochures and the advertising pages. Has, for example, anyone ever leapt out of bed with deep overweening joy and alacrity just to get themselves on the outside of a bowl of cereal? Most of which seem to have any distinction in taste between themselves and the cardboard carton they come in.
Anyway, life is what you make it. This is – I suppose – why most of us seem to have lives that resemble one of those items they used to make on Blue Peter. A strange ungainly construction made out of sticky-backed plastic and empty washing up liquid bottles, and even then a poorly-made facsimile of that which appeared on the programme, that – unlike our feeble attempt – did bear some resemblance to the real thing, no matter how optimistically tenuous.
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