Turning on the lights

November can be a nasty month. Not because it’s cold. But because it reminds you that it will get colder. You walk to work in the morning, and it’s dark and overcast. And it’s still dark and probably even raining, when you return back after all the inanities at office. Those little pockets of sunshine (if at all they happen) will very often go unnoticed. But not that you miss much. The sunshine that happens, is likely to be that impotent shining that has more potential to frustrate you than make you happy. So what do you do? Devise your own ways of staying chirpy – how about pulling down the blinds, stocking up on hot coffee and staring at sunny Barbados on the internet.

But then, it’s not all gloom in November outside of the internet. You apparently realize there is Christmas. Suddenly there is new vigor. Suddenly there is something to look forward to. There are jackets to buy and Christmas trees to deck up. Carols to practice and Christmas puddings to select from racks at Marks & Spencer. Can you believe it, there is even a ceremony to officially turn on the festive lights!!! So there I was - part of this happy, warm congregation of woolen wearing families in front of the council building, watching the mayor go through his little act of hogging the limelight. And the families were there in full attendance. Little ones in pink fleece jackets and chubby cheeks; incessantly asking their fathers ‘When will Santa Claus come?’. To which bespectacled fathers, with bed time story voices would reply ‘Very soon my love. Very soon’. The mothers meanwhile, would stand there with their pearly smiles smelling ever so brilliant in the latest pre Christmas offerings of Ghost and Calvin Klein.

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As the itenary proclaimed, at the stroke of seven, the choir came out and did a rendition of ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’. It sounded as happy as happy can get. The third girl in the second row was hot. And as much eye candy as eye candy can be. Anyways, we digress. More songs happened; more festive fervor happened; and in a moment of unstoppable elation, the mayor pushed down the plunger and set the lights alight. Jarrolds stood there, shining like one of those Swarowski crystals it houses; Gentleman’s walk sparkling like the queen’s necklace; firecrackers lighting up the sky in magnanimous orchestrated splendor; confetti spraying down like snow flakes from heaven. How nice it is I tell you. I step into Marzano to pick up coffee and I could hear the mayor winding up his speech with Christmas wishes. Brown sugar or white, I deliberate. Or on second thoughts, why not try the sweetener? More deliberation and moments later - the lights are all twinkling and the streets are all empty. What the fuck happened I wonder. And to think that they’d be people on the streets today (other than drunken teenagers of course) after eight o clock. And to think that shops would be open well after sundown. And to think……fuck it; where are all the people, I can’t help but ask. Back at King’s Arms. Or Cricketer’s Nest. Or The Coachmakers. Or wherever they are serving beer and showing Manchester United play Aston Villa. That’s it for the ceremony. It’s another quiet night at the Blighty. And as for the lights…..well, they’ll be on till New Year’s, no worries. Merry Christmas. Hope Ronaldo scores.