Into the shops searching for bargains, anxious store managers bemoaning low margins. Credit cards pounded as debts overload, the January debt causing homes to implode.
The Wii and the Apple are top of our yearning, no matter the scale or the scope of our earning. They fly off the shelves with invisible money the absence of which we now rarely find funny.
Yet this is the season where reason is flouted, our good sense torn grimly asunder. Our cash swapped for plunder whilst big banks go under, our common sense now but a cold empty tundra.
The money we spend we just cannot afford cos' we need to pay back all those big banks abroad. The euro it crumbles with no end in sight, rich bankers hand wringing bemoaning their plight.
At home just for now it's a different story, the future put grimly on hold. The Christmas trees up and the gifts are all wrapped but the misery's yet to unfold.
Christmas day comes and then Christmas day goes, the frost and cold nibbling our toes. The house is alive with the drink freely flowing, yet deep in our gut our anxiety's growing.
The wrappings recycled, the bottles are gone, the music no more than residual song. The food that's been wasted, this ugly excess, we're fools to be poking at this hornets nest. And lest we forget in our rush to consume that there's no guarantee that bust leads to boom. We've all grown too comfy, our senses have dimmed as we spend and we squander anew, refusing to accept that we now face a different view. And January comes with a shape at the door, a postman amidst frosted glass. A rattle a thunk and the bills on the floor, the enemy silent, returning once more. So a new year begins as the old one concluded, our good sense long gone or perhaps just deluded? So onto the treadmill we climb once again, bemoaning our burgeoning debt. One really has to wonder, "Ain't we got the message yet?"