They’re putting up the town decorations again – a giant gift, angel and stars all folded on the lorry.
45 days to go and the twinkling of jingles and holly is already scratchy. All I Want For Christmas is not to hear this song every time I prowl the aisles.
The men from the council are unpacking and erecting – head scratchy – sides, top, fixings, LED strings, power cables.
All at once it’s magic. An illusion. Enormous baubles built from two-by-four and chicken wire. A hollow suggestion of festive, with nothing but cable ties and sandbags at the heart.