One tradition that I've been happy to leave well behind though is the way my dad would 'find' our annual Christmas tree. My mum always insisted on a real tree but Dad would leave it so late that all that would be left would be the straggly ones, the lopsided ones and the ones with massive gaps between the branches. So, ever resourceful, he'd head off to the heathland that ran for miles behind our village.
As a youngster I never questioned why we always went to get our Christmas tree in the dark, why he took a saw with him and why I had to hold the torch and stand lookout. It was just one of our family traditions and it was fun. Naturally Mum knew exactly where the tree had come from and every Christmas Eve she'd go around muttering about why couldn't he just be like everyone else and get a nice one from the garden centre? It was a sad day for Dad when the authorities cottoned on to the fact that each December they ended the month with fewer trees than they started with, put up locked gates and signs warning anyone caught tree rustling would be prosecuted.
My mother's desire for the ideal tree seems to have passed down to me and I can spend ages choosing my 8ft non drop beauty. I had a brief flirtation with a fake one when the boys were little but there's nothing in my book like the smell and look of a real one.
Much as I love the whole tree shebang I certainly don't take it as seriously as the friend of one of my mates. She's a real perfectionist, so much so that she had her tree delivered, decorated it, stood back to admire it, took all the decorations off again, picked up the phone and called the tree company to tell them to take it away and bring her another one as it just wasn't right. Wowzer, now I like my tree to look pretty but that's hardcore.
Just how tree focused she is came to light when she threw a Christmas party and two male friends swapped some of the baubles around while she was out of the room. One of the guys recounted the story to me in virtual awe, apparently she walked back into the room, glanced at the tree, walked over and, without a word, put the offending baubles back into their original place!
So, in a few days I'll head off by myself to the local farm where I'll spend absolutely ages choosing my tree, naturally I'll look at dozens and end up buying the first one I saw because that's one of my traditions. After 10 minutes of helping to decorate it the boys will get bored and wander off, half the lights won't work and it'll take three attempts before they look right, the little son will reappear and get stroppy when I refuse to replace the angel on top of the tree with a wrestling figure....and finally, it'll be done.
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| Last year's tree. |
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