New Street, November.
There is a parade of naff wooden huts filled with tat. The scene is illuminated by gaudy, bright, coloured bulbs. A man in a suit is eating a hotdog, next to him a guy who looks like a bad Dave Grohl impersonator is furiously taking notes.
In the foreground, a family done up against the cold: the woman says “I thought they’d shut the winter wonderland down” and the man says “Well they should — it really is crap”.
Their two children are crying.
