It’s December 15, a date of significance.
Ten days till Christmas? Meh. Six days till Winter Solstice? Erp. Two weeks till New Year’s? Hmph.
No. It’s contract day. Revision letter day. Or not. Because they come when they come. And I’ll sit here and wait, tapping my foot and singing rude songs about headless Norwegian Thompson gunners and Woodrow Wilson’s guns.
But Ray Davies says it best. Sing it, Ray.