Twelfth Night

There's always something slightly sad about taking the Christmas decorations down, and letting the chill January light back in.

Happily, I have avoided that this year, by the simple expedient of not putting any up in the first place.

Mostly, I just have a tree. A massive one. Last year, sawing up the Christmas tree, hiding the biggest logs at the top of the garden, and sneaking the rest into the dustbin over the course of months, was the first job in tackled in ... mid-March. This year I was planning to arrange for someone to come and take it away.

Then the rubber plant put on another growth spurt, and, now at over six foot, needed to sit on the floor. The only floorspace was the place where the Christmas tree usually goes.

So I put some fairy lights on the rubber plant instead (thank goodness for heatless LEDs). And it looks so nice (and the plant doesn't seem to mind) that I am going to leave them there.

I did get my advent calendar out again.

Every year I say I won't, because it's over fifty years old, and notwithstanding a brilliant repair job a few years ago by Sebastian's friend's mum who is a book restorer, it is delicate. I have even put a note on its envelope this year advising myself not to use it next year, but I shall probably ignore it when the time comes.