Saved
All memories of Christmas entertained will be gone when the parents of presents given no longer sit by night under pine needles scent. Children will not half-awake dream of what’s to come. No bicycle bells will ring down ‘Boxing day’ streets. Christmas tarts, fruit mince sweet, with enough booze to baffle the dog that stole them from Christmas table and guiltily eats them on the floor, will not be remembered. Who will rise to the occasion to save us, remind us of overfed tummies, family feuds on yearly retreat and proclaim: ‘ This has been so much fun , how great it is to see you all .’ Just the one uncle, who, after embalming himself in brandy stumbled between the trees outside in stupor and shouted, ‘I can see the curvature of the Earth .’ Only then can we say Christmas remembered didn’t fall flat, finally proof also, the Earth is not.