Well, despite my promise never to read another book by Charles Dickens, I genuinely loved this. It was a concise, heartfelt story, not so much about Christmas in its modern commercialised sense, but about Christian ideals of charity and warmth. I especially liked that Scrooge learns his lesson almost instantly, but is still visited by more spirits, as if they know he'd be liable to forget or write off his experiences if they didn't hammer them in. Turns out Dickens can write good stories if he realises they shouldn't be 900 pages long. Who knew?