I'll push the pram, You drag the cot....

'So, Pooh…are you feeling the Christmas spirit?'

'Well, yes and no.'

'Oh…right.'

'It's like Mr Lennon sings, Piglet:

Santa's a concept

Bah which we measure ahhh

Pay-ay-ay-ay-ain.'

'I think it's God that he - '

'Ah'll sing it again.'

'Please don't.'

'Anyway, that being so, I've decided to meet Christmas with something like equanimity.'

'How like?'

'A bespoke hairbrush.'

'Oh…right.'

'And to that end, I've resumed minefieldness.'

'You mean mindful - '

'Makes you think good and proper, Piglet. Makes you ponder the imponderosables.'

'Well, I suppose - '

'Consider the humble leaf, Piglet. Can it choose which wind might waft it hither and yin and yang?'

'Is that what you're meant to - ?'

'Nor yet the modest droplet. Does it have a say in which ocean it must perforce nestle?'

'I think if you're perforced - '

'Nor yet yet the fleeting smile. Is it at all canvassed as to the photogenicity of the mush on which it alights?'

'You're not going to start on with how many roads must a man walk down before - '

'For what is a road?

What has it got?

If not itself

Then it has not…

I'll push the pram,

You drag the cot,

This Floyd is Pink,

That Hoople's Mott,

The Co-op's dead,

Waitrose has fled -

We'll shop at Safeway!'

'I think that's Morrisons now.'

'Oh, for pity's sake, Piglet, why on earth would a Belfast-born songster with a penchant for fedoras, Celtic-inflected soul and a distinct lack of gruntlement be bothering with a supermarket?'

'Diversifying his portfolio?'

'What, in full view?'