Fucking elves. I thought elves were supposed to do all the work at this time of year, but no luck. I don’t know if there’s an agency or something, but if there is no-one told me about it. So in the absence of elves, myself and the long-suffering Comrade Winstanley have been in the Manufactory for days, in temperatures that beggar belief, printing, smoking and refurbishing the Zmas Boutique in a fetching shade of forced optimism. Yes, we tell each other, everything is going to be just great.
Anyway, the point of me sitting here, typing into this infernal machine, is to tell you, o beauteous public, that the Boutique now offers some new work, including a Golden Solstice Smeuse, an Insane Minotaur, a Treasure Island Sunset, and an antique piece which is, for reasons lost somewhere in the last years of the Twentieth Century, called Else.
Bon voyage, and don’t forget to turn out the lights on your way out. Salut, and happy zmas.