There's one bus on my route that's all done up in deccies for charity, with a wee collection tin at the front to encourage you to give generously to the local kids hospital. Done up inside and out like a Sheppey family's idea of four wheeled festive fun, it's a weird feeling getting the thing home: everyone's slightly caught off guard, and it brings about an air of cheery amusement that is certainly not usual for a commute, but then up creeps the feeling that these are pikey decorations, and you start to think that big blankets of cotton wool spread all over the place, thread-bare tinsel, half blown sets of fairy lights and wrinkly ballons on public transport doesn't feel like the most hygenic thing going.
On the decorations front this year, I myself have opted for wooden representations of tribal Christmas spirits hand-carved by blind Somalian orphans, which I feel saves this post from making me sound like a pompous middle-class twat.
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