Zoe Cannell is the sixth poet from the Isle of Man to be raised to the chair of the Manx Bard.

Each month, she will share a poem with us, and explain what led her to write it.

Even when my colleague and I were figuring out where to take this accompanying photograph, we bumped into people we knew.

Where would we be without ’The Street’?

This also applies to Ramsey, Castletown, Onchan, Port Erin and Peel, and all other villages where the shopping district is at the heart of the community.

I’m not without guilt. I order online. But I have come to realise the importance of the sociability of real buildings with real people.

For the last 40 years I’ve been going down into town, and I love to look at some of the online local nostalgia pages, especially the ones with photos of old Douglas.

On a Saturday afternoon when I was younger, I’d be rushing in to Judi’s, Moochers, Fagin’s, Harrison’s Musique, Tandy, Webb’s, Gore’s, Truform, Gelling’s, Shocks and Gemini.

I was also pleased there was a café called Cannell’s!

I have extremely happy memories of all my experiences; spending time with friends and tucking into a burger and milkshake in Griddles.

The internet has improved life so much, but it has also taken so much away.

I’m still enjoying being the Manx Bard.

It has transformed my life.

I barely watch television these days, although I’m trying to keep up with the UK General Election.

I’ve had engagements recently and have a few lined up this week.

It’s wonderful meeting new people and going to new places, and I am astounded by the level or talent and skill we have on this island.

Not Fare.

A rap-tap-tap on my window briskly jolted me from sleep.

‘The Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come’ commanded me to meet.

Whisked me off on a journey. At first, I panicked at its pull,

As we whooshed down into Douglas and through dimly-lit Strand Street.

“Do you recognise this familiar area? The Future Ghost, it hushed to me…

Barely a sound, no soul around. Each building stood vacated.

Once prevailed the hub of our Capital; the nub of the life we knew.

Only roaming a disused wasteland, with accommodation desecrated.

“Do you remember Etam’s in the centre? Worked as a Saturday Girl?

Stationers, music and toys, where you’d buy lots of scrumptious treats?

The Strand’s thrilling escalator? Also Santa’s Grotto hid in there?

Woolworths – My! The records and tapes, and a pick-and-mix of sweets?”

“Anticipation magical, as you’d count down

To switching-on of those warm Christmas lights,

While you listened to children’s choirs sing sweetly

And loaded-up on those late-opening nights?”

“Wrapped-up warm against the frosty chilled-air bite.

Recall gentle snowflakes drop on to your face,

Bumping into friends animatedly chattering;

Pure excitement you’ll never ever replace?”

“Oh, please tell me what happened”, urged of the Spirit -

“Where are all the people? Those dear stores to find?

I miss the mood, and the sound of the brass bands.”

“My girl, they’re now just memories of your mind…”

“People Googled. Googled, Googled the websites

And then stopped. Stopped heading down into Town.

They clicked. Clicked, clicked, clicked on their iPads,

Begged, Begged, begged the ‘net not to crash down.

They entered. Entered, entered their card details,

So parcels could arrive directly. Directly by mail.

Heard the ring. Ring, ring, ring on their doorbells,

So local shops sadly started to fail.

Website giants. Giants. Giant corporations

Who don’t care. Don’t care our charities for.

They don’t build. Build, build, build an ice-sculpture

Or create atmosphere. Atmosphere we adore…

If they’d thought. Thought, thought what they were doing,

They’d still have fun. Fun, Fun. Fun they enjoyed.

So please. Please ponder. Ponder your actions.

Support Manx business and those staff there employed.

A cautionary hiss - the Christmas Future Ghost left me.

‘Ghost of Christmas Present’ there in his place ran,

But no more scared, I flew with him through Strand Street

And bought Festive gifts in our fine shops of Mann …