But the fire is so delightful
And since we've no place to go
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
... as the meteorologically incongruous festive jingle currently employed by Farmers goes. It hasn't been flaking it outside but it's certainly been a cold-shiver-hot-flush kind of December, as a certain recently departed visitor would tell you. Nevertheless, all things festive have well and truly descended upon this corner of the world: big sparkly lights festoon the city's towers, fake snow in shop windows battles it out with sunbathing Santas, and the unwashed masses line the streets in search of that elusive bargain. I'm pleased to report that my shopping is now all but done so I can relax a little and look forward to the break ... it'll be goodbye to Wellington on Christmas Eve and hello to the South Island's lower reaches once more, to spend the festive season with a whole lot of family, friends and other assorted reprobates. Food will be gorged, booze will be quaffed and many dubious stories will no doubt be told. Sheer bliss.
‹ 18.12.02
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