Boy, don’t people just piss you off?  Is there no end to the things they will do seemingly just to get your blood to boil?  And I’m not talking about David Cameron, Obama, Newt or the morons running the EU, I’m talking about the “special” people – you know, those people to whom The Rules do not apply – who do things like move the bollards so they can drive through a pedestrian area full of Christmas shoppers.

The problem is, once you get into a rant about people like that, you’ll be there all day if you don’t stop; it’s like eating potato chips.  And that’s what I said to the lady at the till in the shop where I was making a Christmas purchase (in the interest of keeping it a surprise for my wife, I won’t mention what shop it was).  The woman agreed (shop keepers are generally agreeable when you are handing money over to them) and we decided it was best to just leave the special people alone and just let them go on being special; no sense letting them ruin your day.

By the way, the woman in the shop started it; I may be turning into a grumpy old man, but I had been feeling quite chipper—peace on earth, good will toward men and all that—when I entered the store.  Once she began, however, it wasn’t long before I picked up the refrain and starting singing from the same hymn sheet.

After our agreed cease-fire I left the shop feeling as chipper as when I had gone in, which is a good thing because it was such a lovely, sunny day and I was out Christmas shopping in a town where Christmas shopping is a delight.
 

Unlike in a lot of places—US or UK—where shopping involves fighting traffic on the way to the mall, vying for a parking space once you get to the mall and then contending with crowds as you make your way through the vast labyrinth from store to store to store, all I need to do is walk five minutes into town and I’m in a Christmas wonderland.

Although we have a mall, it is well hidden behind traditional shops and, inside, its halls are festively decked and some of the employees are encouraged to get into the spirit by dressing up.  Outside, the shops are likewise decorated and the Saturday market—throughout December—is complimented by a Sunday Christmas market.   And every Saturday at noon a band plays in the Carfax bandstand.
 

On days like today, when the sun is shining and it is agreeably warm, it is an absolute pleasure to wander among the stalls and peruse the wares in the shops.  It almost makes the startlingly long queue at the Post Office worth the hassle.

So despite Cameron and his ilk, and the moron bollard-mover, peace, tranquility and good will reigned.  At least until I get home and turned on the news.