I must have cut a lonely figure, grappling with a Christmas tree up a windy, cobbled drive way – I imagined a street brimming with happy couples and mobile-phone advert friends all with their perfect pine giants in a net.
To make matters worse, I was wearing a camel-coloured cardigan. If I'd have thought it through, I'd have donned a Barbour for this festive task. As it was, having been abandoned by my brother who had promised to help me fetch The Tree, defiance had forced me towards the rainy garage in a hurry, and the camel was baring the brunt of this rookie mistake.
It now stands embarrassed in the corner of my room, drowning in scientifically tied bows and carefully arranged fairy lights, which continue to wink at me long into the night. I realise now that I have unintentionally turned my innocent Christmas tree into a "fashion tree".
It wasn't meant to be this way. I searched high and low for multi-coloured baubles because I wanted a tacky, scrappy tree but no, impatience gripped me before I had a chance to find them. Suddenly I found myself in John Lewis's haberdashery section, picking out VV Rouleaux ribbons in various hues, as if that's what I do every year.
This, however, is the first year I've had the inclination to decorate my home in keeping with tradition. My previous miserly stance toward decoration was that everything I put up I would at some point have to take down and, frankly, that would be too much effort. I wonder when it got to that? As a child I used to virtually hyperventilate at the prospect of picking up the tree from the local garden centre with my dad and taking it home to drench it in baubles. It was beyond exciting.
And at school when we used to fashion shoddy-looking paper-chains from faded coloured sugar paper, it seemed not only to be an extremely important task, but also the highlight of the academic calendar. Will there be snow, won't there be snow? Will Father Christmas/Dad eat the mince pie we left out?
This year I'm trying to rediscover that fervour I once had for the festive period. I started by watching Home Alone – which was just as amazing as I remembered – I've bought rings made of holly, too many branches of mistletoe and I've even tried to stand around sipping mulled wine and hot cider, both of which tasted entirely unreasonable.
Maybe the issue I have is that there is only a certain amount of Christmas cheer I can muster every year, and most of that is used up on bellowing "Merry Christmas!!!" There is one saving grace, however, one activity that always fills me with cheer: shopping.
Yesterday I popped in to Bath to track down a variety of gifts for a variety of family members. I managed to buy five in total, one for mum, one for my brother, one for my dad and two for myself. Although this is an appalling result, it's a trap I always fall into.
I have an issue with purchasing things, I can't peruse items for other people without spying something for myself. Often I'll try and safeguard myself from this fact by sticking solely to shops or departments I know I have no interest in: kitchenware, menswear, gardening tools.
Even then though, even when I'm knee-deep in other people's interests, I am quite capable of convincing myself I need a hand trowel. This has to stop. Perhaps I'll do the rest of my Christmas shopping over the internet because then if I can't actually pick the items up and bond with them, I won't want them. First stop: www.asos.com.
To make matters worse, I was wearing a camel-coloured cardigan. If I'd have thought it through, I'd have donned a Barbour for this festive task. As it was, having been abandoned by my brother who had promised to help me fetch The Tree, defiance had forced me towards the rainy garage in a hurry, and the camel was baring the brunt of this rookie mistake.
It now stands embarrassed in the corner of my room, drowning in scientifically tied bows and carefully arranged fairy lights, which continue to wink at me long into the night. I realise now that I have unintentionally turned my innocent Christmas tree into a "fashion tree".
It wasn't meant to be this way. I searched high and low for multi-coloured baubles because I wanted a tacky, scrappy tree but no, impatience gripped me before I had a chance to find them. Suddenly I found myself in John Lewis's haberdashery section, picking out VV Rouleaux ribbons in various hues, as if that's what I do every year.
This, however, is the first year I've had the inclination to decorate my home in keeping with tradition. My previous miserly stance toward decoration was that everything I put up I would at some point have to take down and, frankly, that would be too much effort. I wonder when it got to that? As a child I used to virtually hyperventilate at the prospect of picking up the tree from the local garden centre with my dad and taking it home to drench it in baubles. It was beyond exciting.
And at school when we used to fashion shoddy-looking paper-chains from faded coloured sugar paper, it seemed not only to be an extremely important task, but also the highlight of the academic calendar. Will there be snow, won't there be snow? Will Father Christmas/Dad eat the mince pie we left out?
This year I'm trying to rediscover that fervour I once had for the festive period. I started by watching Home Alone – which was just as amazing as I remembered – I've bought rings made of holly, too many branches of mistletoe and I've even tried to stand around sipping mulled wine and hot cider, both of which tasted entirely unreasonable.
Maybe the issue I have is that there is only a certain amount of Christmas cheer I can muster every year, and most of that is used up on bellowing "Merry Christmas!!!" There is one saving grace, however, one activity that always fills me with cheer: shopping.
Yesterday I popped in to Bath to track down a variety of gifts for a variety of family members. I managed to buy five in total, one for mum, one for my brother, one for my dad and two for myself. Although this is an appalling result, it's a trap I always fall into.
I have an issue with purchasing things, I can't peruse items for other people without spying something for myself. Often I'll try and safeguard myself from this fact by sticking solely to shops or departments I know I have no interest in: kitchenware, menswear, gardening tools.
Even then though, even when I'm knee-deep in other people's interests, I am quite capable of convincing myself I need a hand trowel. This has to stop. Perhaps I'll do the rest of my Christmas shopping over the internet because then if I can't actually pick the items up and bond with them, I won't want them. First stop: www.asos.com.
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