A gift

Well sir, time moves on, and I have much to do before I may rest. As tradition demands, we have shared food and drink - and unless I am mistaken, they were what you would have chosen yourself.

However, the season also requires me to present you with a gift - and that is my choice.

Please accept, with my best wishes, a copy of Mr Dickens' book. When you get home this evening, from your shopping trip, you may well wonder where the day went. And you may wonder why you have a copy - second-hand, by the look of it - of this wonderful book. It is then up to you whether you delve into its pages, or put it aside, shaking your head.

However, I do hope it is the former. Your life will be the richer, as will your enjoyment of Christmas. Why, you may even decide that you don't want to go abroad after all, but would rather spend Christmas at home! I do hope so.

And when you feel the Christmas spirit move you, I hope that you may have some brief flash of recollection of our time together. Even if you do decide this was all some dream, that I was but an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese.

There was a rather dreadful song at one time - although it did have a delightful tune which it had borrowed, shall we say - which, nevertheless said something rather wise. The Christmas we get, I believe it went, we deserve.

Well, farewell sir. Compliments of the season to you. As I always say, "bless us everyone."



THE END

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