Yule Tide Cheer and how to deal with it

Somehow I feel calling the security guards was an overreaction, especially at Christmas, but maybe that is starting at the wrong end.

'It will be fun' opined Mrs The Hon Sec. Fun is a word used by clammy eyed and frightfully over optimistic distant cousins when trying to sell the charms of standing in a field, doing the sort of thing you felt was amusing when you were six and wearing a tabard in the sort of colour dyers ought to know better than to attempt. And all in the name of charity.

It was on that basis I was plucked from 'Thought for the Day' and the warmth of an English bedroom to the Grocers to buy, as she puts it 'the last touches.' This is a tradition, which is presumably the only reason it is allowed to go unquestioned, which dates back and makes her feel she is in some mystical way the mistress of the Yule Tide Feast – even after F&M hampers have been delivered in due time with 95% of the makings therein.

It is good to see the nation united at a time like this and we were all together in the thought 'I'll pop out nice and early because no one else will be there.' For that reason and that reason alone I was spending more than usual queuing for pipe tobacco. Chap in front of me had a birthday card of a pinkish hue clutched to his chest and two kinds of suet, which I felt showed more than average consideration.

Anyway, while she summoned up the skills of the primitive gatherer,  I had time to summon up my skills as a tracker, find the tobacconist, and while away a few moments looking at the front pages of the newspapers, a thing I don't normally as my man brings 'The Times' neatly ironed and ready for a doze behind mind morning. One of them had a rather bland looking young thing with barely a stitch on. I assumed it was some kind of seasonal appeal, you know, 'Mary has come to the city to become a serving maid but fell in with the wrong sort at Fenchurch Street and is now at the St Audrey's Home for gels who have damn well picked themselves up and 10 bob will buy her a new vest.' Apparently not. The poor young thing was standing like those creatures who hung round the doors of certain clubs in our youth offering an introduction to their sporting niece. Point being, without her no one would enter the ghastly pages of the rag. I gazed over the front pages. I looked more closely. I summoned staff. No, there was nothing that could be done and they weren't moving the job lot to 'Fiction.'

With several ounces of 'Eldernell's Fenland Protective' in my pocket I entered out into the grocers with an amiable smile and drifted with the tide of my fellow man. As salmon and bread were the only things that were required I assumed Mrs The Hon Sec would have been done by now. That Einstein cove is a clever soul. Time travels differently at different places. For women folk in shops of all kinds it seems to slow to an almost unperpetually snail-like crawl. She was still looking at candles - the gift, I believe, which is acceptable when you have run out of all other ideas, don't want to stump up for decent whisky but still rather like the people it is intended for.

I went a pottering. Now, I am not a great theologian but apparently our Lord and Saviour was, indeed, born in a stable and according to a modern translation from the Greek, known only to the display girl, accompanied by penguins and a confused looking polar bear. I expect that state of bewilderment was due to the bear never having seen a penguin before and wondering how long it would take to make them go extinct.

'Hell is Empty' sayeth the bard. He didn't know the half of it. The place was packed. I swear I saw several women come to blows after the last packet of own brand 'just add hot water and don't mind the taste bread sauce;' Perfectly normal people were squabbling over tubes of cranberry sauce; and ever, ever in the background those men of a certain age looking lost and bewildered, not knowing either time nor place. I felt the call of duty and got out my pipe.

Say what you like, a chap with a pipe creates calm. Within seconds of the first whiff of smoke the clamour had ceased. I saw the chaps go just a little moist eyed. Using my walking stick I cleaved a path and led them pied piper like out of the store. Now, I don't normally approve of DIY, puts working men out of a job and gives wives unwarranted expectations of your bedroom capacity - i.e. being able to put up shelves. However, any port. I took them through the door and let them go; free to frolic amidst the intricate bolts and grouting knives to their hearts content.

Alas, all good things come to an end and some found the shed section and refused to come out. Security was called. Eventually I found one of those more mature chaps who these places now employ and he explained to the youth in charge of the building that it was all alright and come opening time they would all leave of their own free will.  I was still asked to leave with less than gratitude.