I was dressed as a gingerbread man for work. Last Christmas. It was very warm. The outfit was made of thick brown felt, and the buttons were meant to look like liquorice all sorts. The hat was round like a plate and encapsulated my entire head, framing my face and fastening under the chin, with two big googly eyes on the top. I called the bingo (that's what I work at - bingo calling, and sometimes we wear festive outfits), and at the end of the shift realised I'd forgotten my coat, so I set off home as a gingerbread man (I live just round the corner from the bingo hall). I mean, I took off the hat, but I was still wearing the rest of the costume.
The woman who lives near me was walking her Yorkshire Terrier, who hates me, I think because I'm transsexual. The Yorkshire terrier started to chase me, tugging the woman along by the lead. I ran, ran, as fast as I could. I thought, 'I should remember this, because I might never get the chance to be inside a childhood poem again.'