Opinion

With less than a week to go, I wanted to wish all the Bury Free Press readers a very happy Christmas.

Now the nights have drawn in and darkness falls within the waking hours of young children, a new experience beckons.

When I joined the Bury Free Press in 2000, there was talk of the A11 being dualled. It was about time, I remember thinking back then. After all, it had been 30 years in the pipeline.

It feels like winter never gets going anymore, gone are the heavy frosts and biting north winds and the fieldfare and redwings are only now starting to eat the hawthorn berries along the track to the reserve.

There is a noticeable upturn in the use of the garden bird feeders as the first real winter weather begins to make itself felt. Alongside the familiar tits, finches and sparrows, you may also see the occasional wintering blackcap, a species more often regarded as a summer visitor.

This week, most readers will have been wrapping up warm against the elements and bemoaning having to de-ice their cars. I, on the other hand, have been dreaming of my bikini.

My natural cynicism abates in December, firmly pushed back by sentimental Christmas films, Phil Spector’s Christmas album and toasted Pandoro for breakfast.

I don’t suppose I’ll be the only person clambering up a rickety step ladder this weekend to rescue Christmas decorations from their 11-month hibernation in the loft.

I remember that dreadful night in summer 2012 when Cupola House went up in flames.

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