The old people’s Christmas party went swimmingly. The ukulele player caused heads to rise, and some joined in the carols with gusto. One sang Away in a Manger then wondered why she was there. One, diminutive and 108, or so they said, remained aloof. A new comer to the feast who had been quite somebody in the community in her day, had caused her to slump in a sulk so she wouldn’t even eat. We tried to persuade her to join in, ‘Father Christmas is on his way.’
‘Bugger Father Christmas!’ And with that she curled up like a dormouse and slept.