This Year's Christmas Tree

I must admit that I do like a nice Christmas tree. Not one of those thin artificial ones mind you, my tree of choice has to be real, preferably Norwegian and very fat around the middle (I’m not too bothered about the height). For several very reasonable, but boring reasons, we didn’t get a tree this year. To begin with I was indifferent, my head full of India and a sore arm, but once mid-December rolled around tree-envy began to manifest itself in not-so-subtle ways. I found myself standing in close proximity to the tree in the reception area at work just so I could get some of that authentic pine smell into my nostrils. Mrs B, the receptionist, was on a call at the time, but she did look strangely after a few minutes and I had to pretend I was admiring the tasteful plastic baubles. On Saturday I went to a friend’s for roast chestnuts, ginger wine and a baked ham (imagine my luck!), and I spent most of the evening staring at her beautiful, almost-perfect tree hung carefully with glass ornaments.

I couldn’t take it any longer. At Portobello market this weekend I went on a tree hunt – just for a little one mind you – but I couldn’t find one that was ‘right’ and small enough to carry home on the tube. Eventually I compromised and walked home with this… a berry-filled twig (not a ‘stick’ as my flatmate called it!) It’s infinitely beautiful and cleverly matches the print on the kitchen wall, but it’s not a tree is it.

*Sigh*