It was the night before Christmas (actually it was the morning of the 22nd but allow me the poetic license) and the Spirit of 2020 hung heavily over me. It breathed an icy maskless breath on the back of my neck redolent of failure, penury and past their sell-by date mince pies. Bah humbug! I hate mince pies.
"What's to-day?"
It was the night before Christmas (actually it was the morning of the 22nd but allow me the poetic license) and the Spirit of 2020 hung heavily over me. It breathed an icy maskless breath on the back of my neck redolent of failure, penury and past their sell-by date mince pies. Bah humbug! I hate mince pies.
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