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I, for one, enjoy treacle. Well, the figurative kind, at least, having never had the real stuff. I mean, kind of explains the general consensus around here for a fondness of hanging around on a movie-set turn-of-the-twentieth-century small-town Main Street with tears in our eyes while fake snow blows at us and speakers blare the most sappy version of White Christmas ever recorded.
Nothing wrong with liking treacle and nothing wrong with calling it what it is. Now play nice, it's Christmas. Where's Steve? I wanna give him a hug.
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Does anyone still wear a hat? 
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