From the platform next to the Cenotaph, the view looks quite peaceful, does it not? But looks can deceive...
Here we see St. Hilda's church decked out in holiday finery, a reminder that Christmas is not all about egg nog, presents, and having to see one's disgusting Uncle Jimmy chase skirt and vomit in inappropriate places.
These snow creatures, in the Whybrows' hard, appear to be engaged in some sort of disagreement. The chap on the left, having armed himself with a hair dryer, seems to have the upper hand. Good shooting, old chap!
Presents? For me? Hmm, apparently not. Mrs. Fotherington does have a lovely pot of reindeer stew bubbling in her front yard - just the thing for a cold winter's night. (Poor Santa, running down the checklist: "Dasher? Donder? Okay, I see you both. Blitzen. Check. Comet? Comet, where the devil did you go? Oh, thank you, Mrs. Claus, that looks like a lovely stew...")
But perhaps Santa has bigger things about which to worry: the milk and cookies seem to have done him in outside Mr. Goode's establishment. And that's a mighty unsettling chalk outline of a reindeer next to him. Oh Mrs. Fotherington, could we have a word?