'Tis the season for Christmas lights. The Burproosters and Mr and Mrs Chopper-sir arranged a street party for their neighbours and a switching-on of everyone's houselights. I was called in as the allegedly independent adjudicator. The Burps' mad neighbour, J.M., was madly campaigning all evening for her display to win. We'd wandered along the street, ooh-ing and aah-ing as each set of lights was switched on, and as we headed back to the Chopper-sirs driveway, The Burp muttered to me, "For God's sake, make sure J.M. wins." "No worries," I muttered back (we're expert at talking out of the sides of our mouths). "As if it was going to be anyone else."
J.M. was very gracious about taking out the inaugural trophy. She spent the rest of the evening assuring everyone that, delighted as she was to win, it was never meant to be a competition, and she's not at all competitive.
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