Christmas nears. And, even though we’re all dyed in the wool atheists in our household, Lizzie’s and my talk turns to whether we should go to the local carol service.
We have this conversation every year. And usually we don’t go. But this year, of all years, we feel like we could do with a little spiritual nourishment.
‘Let’s do it!’ we agree.
The following morning, as we take the dog for a walk down the hill in our village, we spot this sign outside our local church.
Could this sign be any creepier?
Maybe if the ‘CHILDREN’ was in a lurid red.
The carol service is never mentioned again by myself or Lizzie.
P. D. Clifton 
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