The Great Christmas Tree Hunt

Firstly I apologise to anyone who ever comes here looking for hot tips or intelligent comment. Since it snowed my brain stopped working. I have had a little think about the King George, but surely only Satan (curiously an anagram of Santa) himself would stand in the way of history. Or this snow and ice I suppose.

So sorry, but any blogging activity this week will be of the deeply self-indulgent kind and of zero interest to most. However just before I start all that I would just like to congratulate my good friend, Joseph Isherwood, who has bagged his own regular blog at the Racing Post about learning to ride (inside job given he works there). We met when he worked at the local bookies as a student and we have been friends ever since, notwithstanding that I am old enough to be his mother. In fact, when we have been on the Rowley Mile and he was wearing jeans I was instructed to tell the premier enclosure guards just that! Then there was the time he turned up at the July course with his badminton racquet and we had to hunt for it with various officials after the July Cup. We share the same birthday eighteen years apart and it is good to know someone who has the same mad enthusiasm for things that I do…

I am not sure where Joe stands on Christmas trees but I am in the buy it at the last minute camp. I also can’t stand artificial ones, except perhaps in supporting roles. The year we had an artificial one at home when I was young stands out in my mind. The horror of it. Does this make me a Christmas tree snob? There is always a strong rear guard action against a real one here, although that may be a ruse to make sure that I am the one tasked with sourcing one and dragging it home. Last year I ended up with two 6 footers by Christmas Eve – my own and a homeless one.

Anyway, here is this year’s version. A twenty quid rooted job in a pot that Cassia and I risked life and limb to get on Sunday. There wasn’t a lot of choice, but more than last year where I nearly had to a fight a duel over the last Christmas tree in Essex in the garden Centre car-park. I think this is the earliest I have ever put one up, left to my own childless devices I would leave it until Eve as the kids say. After all you don’t want to be sick of the sight of it and knee deep in needles by Christmas Day…

Posted on December 22, 2009, in Children, Nostalgia and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 11 Comments.

  1. We favour a more is more approach in this house. I know some people abhor tinsel. I cannot live without it.

  2. Clearly I have scarred you for life with the 1 year artificial tree. At least I saw the error of my ways quickly.

    To overcome the more-is-more and last-minute-Christmas-tree-hunt syndromes, you should get your little sister involved. She will announce when (date and time) you are going to buy your tree, arrive promptly to take you there, assist in the agonising deliberation and choice process, put it into her Land Rover and then lead the decorating process, vetoing your most beloved but most gaudy baubles; but she makes up for this by dealing with all the technology that accompanies the modern Christmas tree. She may be laid-back on the subject of dogs on beds but is more akin to M Thatcher in her approach to the important business of THE TREE.

    I will now return to the tooth and bone achingly stressful process of completing my on-line tax return, driven to wanting to chew my arm off by the bossy nanny crossed with patronising aunt manner of its running commentary on my efforts.

  3. Have you finished it? I can’t see any chocolate money.

  4. It is finished, the coins go in the stocking. The 5 yo demanded candy dangling from it but I stood firm. Standby for the tree headshot tomorrow.

    Mummy, it will be interesting to hear Maggie’s account of the trip šŸ˜‰

    Good luck with the tax return. If you plead mental infirmity they will do it for you, even past the date. A nice man did mine for me in the office on the Euston Road once. I did my best vague (rant) and I ended up with a rebate šŸ™‚

  5. I’ll try it some time. It may be necessary, as I’m such rubbish at keeping receipts and so good at losing key bits of paper. However, I suspect a demented rant is something I could only get away with once…. so I’ll save it until really desperate.

  6. P.S. Emily actually removed my tinsel to ensure that I wouldn’t sneak it on to the tree once she was out of the house (I would have). I believe it went to the office with Anne Marie as her entry in their ‘most tasteless Christmas decoration’ competition.

  7. Oh no – tinsel tyrants!

  8. Jessica, the tinsel was brown and green, with grey highlights. Brown, green and grey, Jessica. Brown, green and grey.

  9. I think you should have taken a photo for the crimes against tinsel jury to retire and consider their verdict.

    Without the evidence (only eye-witness and hearsay thus far) I will order an acquittal…

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