As I clutch the red Starbucks cup in my hand, I realise that Christmas is once again upon us. I never buy anything, but as I snuggle down into my scarf and breathe in the festive spirit, I fight my way through the crowds. A visit to the Manchester Christmas Markets has become a yearly tradition, and the excitement is something that just doesn’t waiver.
Every year, a giant Father Christmas makes an appearance on top of the Town Hall and every year I wonder the same thing; why does he look so much like Zippy from Rainbow? The huts full of German sausages don’t do anything for my vegetarian appetite, but the smell of warm pancakes and rows full of rainbow coloured sweets are things I will never tire of.
In a few weeks time it will all be over, there will be no more red cups, the huts will be packed away for another year, and the warm smell of pancakes will be a distant memory. But the question about Father Christmas will remain…
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