Lincoln Christmas Market was fun. At each turn there were interesting stalls full of wonderful goods to buy. Black Yak hats and candle powered steamboats stirred it with Lincoln Red burgers, dodgems and mulled wine. Festive music and flashing lights, mesmerising, mixed in with hot and spicy seasonal smells. The noise of the stallholders competing for attention. Children clutching their helium filled Father Christmas balloons, momentarily appeased. Fingers sticky from sugary doughnuts and lips brown with hot chocolate. The warm glow from sitting in the pub, snug with a pint of beer. A favourite date in the calendar.
The other market was different. It was bitterly cold and it was crowded. Movement was reduced to a shuffle. There was a limited range of attractions for children and some of the old favourites were no longer there. The big wheel was four pounds per person. That’s a pound per revolution. Dad can you buy me this, can you buy me that drowned out the calls of the vendors pushing their wares. I passed a pavement cafe that in the summer we had sat at sipping refreshing drinks. Now it was bitter, windchilled and uninviting.
Home now. Next year I will have forgotten the second Market. Blanked it out. I am programmed only to remember the good.