Suffice to say, last night's Central Road Christmas extravaganza was all but washed away in an evening of torrential rain. The brass band had to take refuge in a shop doorway, the free hot chocolate would have been tempting were I not obsessed with finding shelter and the other attractions were more unfair than funfair, with every ride magically transformed into a watersplash.
The evening for me started off in the Chinese herbal medicine practice opposite Iceland, as I went to collect Mrs WP who had been having her chi rearranged and chakra realigned, which seemed to involve needles and laxative herbal infusions.
As we were preparing to leave, the Chinese practioner apologetically enquired whether the Christmas event in Worcester Park was traditional, or just commercial.
I considered a devastatingly insightful reply - something along the lines of it being rooted in tradition but now largely commerical, much like Chinese medicine (Mrs WP was entering her PIN number in the keypad at that point, so it could have worked a treat).
But my brain wasn't working quickly enough for that so I admitted it was purely commercial, much to his apparent disappointment. I suppose I could have made something up about it being traditional, but I really didn't want a foreign national thinking that teacup rides outside KFC and a few stalls proffering knock-off toys as prizes were in any way an English tradition.
And besides, my stomach was rumbling and I had the evening in Silks to look forward to...