Yesterday, whilst waiting for the Brussels sprouts to boil, inhaling the aroma of a Quorn roast in the oven, and listening to Bing Crosby sing about peace on earth and good will towards men, I was visited by the ghost of Christmas past and he gave me cause to wince a little. It's not that Christmases have ever been entirely ruined by our nuisance neighbours in the past, but that was never for the want of trying on their part. Sufficiently malevolent all year round, they always favoured this…
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