At this rate by the time Christmas rolls over me like a cartoon steam roller there won't be anything left to flatten. 'Tis a hard trip this year, not sure why. The skies are no bluer or greyer than other years, it's not much colder or warmer. All my vital signs are, well, vital. But this time around that hole in the ground, the one I regularly fall into in December, seems a bit deeper.
Soldier on, the good fairy says. Shut yer trap, the bad fairy grumbles.
The good fairy strikes the bad fairy with her very pointed wand, and the battle is on.