It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
But not much like the Christmas I'm used to.
The German markets in the city centre are enough to confuse my seasonal spirit. My own traditions include stringing tin foil ornaments on a two-foot tree, attempts at baking cookies amidst a dust-storm of flour and a tornado of candied fruit; potlucks and Chris Kringle's; and the occasional forage into a turkey's ass with a fist full of stuffing; and late-night treks through a neighbourhood aglow with Christmas bulbs.
None of these traditions will hold this year. I'm trying to make the best of enjoying the novelty, of breaking free of these so-called customs before they become ingraine in my habit like a Whopper on my birthday (more to come).
But for a Canadian girl at a German market in the UK, it can all be a little confusing.
