Hundreds of jolly old joggers in a Santa run in Michendorf, Germany, jingling all the way, dressed in red from head to mistletoe. Look at all those Santas go.
It was still quarter of ten before he was actually on the road, the windshield wipers clicking and the chains clinking with tuneless monotony on the Buick's big wheels.
The trumpet banged against the slate, the slate knocked against the moneybag, the lifesaving medal clinked against the chalk pencil but Louis was airborne again.