We’ve always had an artificial Christmas tree. Every year we haul it down from the loft, wrestle it out of its box and bedeck the living daylights out of it.
Some years it’s a bit on the wonk, but overall it’s done us proud.
A couple of weeks ago, looking at our tree, I murmered aloud, “Do you know what? I quite fancy having a real one next year”.
To this, the youngest almost spat out his tea in disgust. Eyes narrowing, he turned to me and growled, “A REAL TREE? Are you mad?”
“Not at all – I think it would look lovely…”
“Think about it, Mum”, he continued. “You’d really cut down a tree that’s been happily growing, just to stick it in our house for a couple of weeks?”
Aside from the fact that the youngest has turned into a bit of an environmental menace lately, I actually couldn’t argue with that point. As a gardener, I KNOW how long stuff takes to grow. Would I go out and chop stuff in its prime down? I don’t think so…
So onto Plan B. Our local supermarket is selling teeny tiny Christmas trees in pots. We’re off to get one of those bad boys later, and will name it Trevor the Tree. Trevor will live out on the patio, and each year – hopefully a tad taller than the last – we’ll bring him in from the cold and pimp him up with baubles.
I’m pretty sure he’ll become part of the family in no time at all