The low rolling mist holds back the harsh light of the new day sun, the air softly crackles as it crystallizes into flickering flakes of snow. A ribbon of red settles on a frosted branch, the reliable and cheerful robin, a principle character in this eternal scene.

So here it is, a badly packed suitcase of dead ideas and lazy hints at the approaching season and the wonderful pleasures it brings. This imagery holds a darker aspect for the one man who has the sole responsibility in providing all of these wonderful pleasures, his waking life haunted with reminders of that most dreaded night.

The realities of Christmas are slowly unraveling the reality of our dear old Father Christmas.