I Predict A Riot

"September is the cruellest month" to misquote T. S. Eliot.

Christmas is still 96 days away, yet my beloved council, never usually ahead of the curve, has already sent out its Christmas lunch invitation. 

Into my in box plopped the following "CHRISTMAS LUNCH FOR OVER- 60’s" 

I've been invited to attend a Christmas lunch for older people.

No expense is to be spared. I  and nine others will have the pleasure of sharing the season's festivities with the Leader of the Council. There will be four such displays of municipal generosity and munificence scattered throughout the Borough.

My seat at the high table, sharing a cracker and a glass of British sherry with our Leader, is not guaranteed. Such is the anticipated level of response, the names of the forty lucky old timers will be pulled out of a hat.

No doubt, transport will be laid on for us old codgers. We'll have the pleasure of a three hour tour of the borough in sub zero temperatures as the municipal van trundles from house to house picking up its cargo of decrepitude.

Specially trained volunteers, coached in patronising small talk and condescension, will be on hand to shovel spoonfuls of turkey and custard into our gaping mouths while the official photographer catches moments of tearful gratitude as the Council leader hands out gift vouchers from Lidl or Poundstretchers.

Suddenly I feel very old.  I think I'll have a little lie down.