There used to be a very intimate, very characterful old bookshop on the street near my college. It was like a bizarre bookish wonderland: if you went in there you would never come out with what you'd originally wanted, but would probably be pleasantly surprised by what was in there.
Sadly, they closed during the summer - and now there's a truly awful Christmas shop in its place. The shop blares garish Christmas songs to everyone who walks past and is filled with all manner of soulless, santa-affiliated dross and nonsense, most of which glitters and all of which is sickening.
I don't mind Christmas. But I *hate* how commercial and tacky it gets. Especially now that I'm down by one marvellous, unique bookshop
Secretary of Unknowable Knowledge for the Rock/Dink administration '08