You're gently perusing the cupboard hoping for a biscuit. Perhaps a half-eaten bag of crisps. It's forty minutes until dinner and there's no way you can make it. Then you happen upon
A Christmas mirage.
A Christmas miracle,
A Christmas Miragicle:
A forgotten box of spies!
But then you get all middle aged and PC and you find this:
Briefly you wrestle with the dilemma until you remember your new apron:
It's time like these when you realise you still live on the edge.