Friday December 8, 2006
To Taunton so’s Graham could put a Christmas parcel of assorted gifts together for his mother.
“If we come to Taunton again before Christmas we’ll have to leave a lot earlier than this,” I said, a little glumly, as we waited in a long line of traffic to get to the car park.
“I think you’re right. It gets worse every year.”
You could almost smell the excess adrenaline in the air as road raging motorists around us glared and grimaced at one another, now and then resorting to thumping their horns to relieve the frustration. Too many cars looking for too few parking spaces, that’s the truth of it.
“If it gets much worse than this I think we should run away and hide each December, until Christmas is over and done with,” I said.
“Where would you go?”
“How about a remote cottage in the Scottish Highlands?”
“You’d still have to do shopping.”
“Not if you stopped off on the way and filled a lot of boxes with food and goodies.”
“So what you’re suggesting is that we should do Christmas without going off on shopping trips every day?”
“That’s about the strength of it.”
“Just flopping in front of the fire, munching mincepies, sipping mulled wine and going out for a stroll in the snow when we need to stretch our legs?”
I sat thinking for a while. And driving, of course.
“Yes,” I said. “You’re right. Not like Christmas at all.”
By this time we’d eased into a vacant disabled slot in the multi-storey car park.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go shopping!”