It is a little known fact that I actually like Christmas, especially the tree and decorations and mulled wine and mince pies … obviously. I have to pretend vehemently that I hate all things Christmas because my boss is Christmas mad, she has had her pink tree up since September! If she knew I even remotely liked christmas time she would have my desk bedecked in tinsel before I had time to spit out “bah humbug”. Anyway my flatmate has decided to make our igloo oops I mean (cold) flat all festive. I came home last night and there was a home-made wreath on the door and above it against the glass was the word “noel”. Only it didn’t read that way.
Not only that but we had been saying that we were fans of the sparse twig style Christmas trees. I went into the lounge and she had found, on her way home the biggest twig EVER. It scrapes our roof (it is probably the remains of last years Norwegian spruce from Trafalgar square). I think it’s great, but what I liked more than the Christmas twig was imagining her dragging it home from the park!
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