I experimented, of course, with flipping this so that the signage was fully legible in these multicultural greetings hanging above the winter market in Sheffield, but then the architecture would have been wrong. However, the multiculturism is unquestionably a defining presence, as witnessed by the number of women wearing hijabs (without anyone, perhaps it's superfluous to say, paying the slightest bit of notice). I'm heartened by all the anti-Trumpism in England, which hovers on the edge between ridicule (and through it, America gets ridiculed too) and political call-out for the fascist, racist hatred (coupled with sheer nauseating opportunism) that it is.
Heartened why, though? Because I'll be able to return somewhere sane should the worst happen? That's hardly n the cards, until the camps start. Not with a wife who doesn't want to live here (quite understandable, given the chilly bleakness of Sheffield in December when one compares it with Los Angeles) and a houseload of dysfunctional cats who probably feel the same way.
And if a cart of roasted chestnuts, smelling like they always have done on English winter streets, pulls my own heart in one direction,
there's quite a lot about the Sleigh Bar, in the Winter Market, that most certainly doesn't (I here channel my inner Martin Parr. Without, for the record, his use of flash.)