Well, here we are again, and isn’t it nice this morning/afternoon/evening*?
Even though our modern hairstylists may be (sort of) domesticated, the primitive wild urges are also still there, deep inside them. At the first sign of tinsel and bright shiny balls on display, they begin to feel the old wild urges growing within themselves. Then they seek out town centres in the dark of the evenings where they can run amok with staggering excesses of alcohol. There they can perform their strange ancient rituals involving mistletoe and other dark arts to entrap the unsuspecting callow unbearded youths that are the only ones brave – or foolhardy enough - to be both out of their heads and out on the streets of our town centres at such dangerous times. But now those times are over, for this year. Consequently, this time of year is usually quite peaceful here on the farm, with the hairstylists in semi-hibernation in front of their murmuring TV sets, as they await the beginning of the summer holiday season.
The lawyers too, are mostly snuggled deep in their writs during the long dark parts of the day, muttering quietly about defamation suits and breaches of Health & Safety legislation as they twitch and dream.
The bestial accordions have migrated further south for the winter, busking as they go, and bringing the concomitant dread and fear to the urban landscapes as commuters and shoppers hear their unearthly wailing from around the next corner. The afeared pedestrians pat their pockets and check their purses for small change, still apparently believing - in this the 21st century, the age of science and technology - the Old Wives’ tale that you can prevent an attack by a busking accordion if you throw silver at it as you flee.
*Delete as can be arsed