Christmas is over, but above the concourse of Charring Cross Station, a gas-filled balloon in the shape of Father Christmas, bobs against the netting stretched below the roof to keep pigeons away. The string, to which a child's hand must recently have clung, hangs forlorn below the balloon.
Small boy: I want to get on that train.
Mother: We don't know where it's going.
Small boy: I do.
My sister-in-law, who lives in Norwich, says she saw a notice outside a fish and game merchant, which announced: "Whole raw tigers for Christmas".
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