The countdown begins

Every year, the Ottawackers start our Christmas celebrations by inviting a group of deserving middle-aged citizens over for dinner. 

We sit around and glumly remember how much better things used to be. We sit in maudlin silence and pontificate. Then when we have finished or meditations, we share our own wassail cup (of cold porridge and vinegar), and leave home, comfortable in the knowledge that we are another year closer to death.

It is an evening.