A Kind of Loving

A Kind of Christmas Screaming voices a decorated tree flew though the open French window. In the bedroom, a woman cried, in the basement den a man sat with a bottle of whisky, the children sat in the living room eating sweets and waited for the storm to blow over. It was like this every Christmas, it was so much better when they both went to work when the parents had a few days free they went on each other’s nerves. Soon the booth would come out of their rooms, shower the children with love, the man took the tree in from the garden and the Eve would continue