At Christmas his spectacles had disappeared, and there was a search.

As they searched they listened to songs. Carols about The Little Baby Jesus and Sacred Holy Nights. Along with rocky celebrations of drunken, merry festivity as An Antidote to Uncertain Times and The Certainty Of Endings.

Eventually the spectacles were found, lying in front of the wooden nativity scene on the windowsill. That was where he had left them.

And somebody said as a joke: “Hey, baby Jesus has found them”.

And somebody else said that that might actually be the truth.

And The Truth, as it always does, tried to take sides. It was looking for a fight.

But the music, a lone bugler in No-Mans land, called everybody to share a few moments of peace.