So I thinks, look, it aint a right-feeling sliding down to Christmas without a-calling on the fussbudget. And it comes to me in a state of undress (I know, sorry), that of ALL things unlikely and traditional and supposed at this time of year, he’s obviously gonna pick on and pick at a littlest aspect of the whole she-bang.
And so this of the festive fusspot:
… from a quickly scribbled (and interestingly so much better and more lively) this:
I loves his irked little face in the sketch – he’s proper bothered.
There. Happy Christmas, happy holidays, to you.