o christmas tree…
Well, Tree has arrived! Mini-Tree, as it turns out.
Shortly after noon and in a large and promising-looking cardboard box, only for me to discover upon gently wriggling it out by the netting that it was, er, vertically challenged and standing even shorter than me (and that, make no mistake, is short in Christmas tree terms). Since there was little I could do to make it grow (and to be fair, I had ordered one of five to six feet expecting it to be at the latter end of the scale rather than barely scraping the former, understandable especially to anyone who witnessed the stately height and spread of the supposedly-seven-foot-but-closer-to-nine 2008 one) I shrugged, carefully removed the netting and after a drink of water each and a half hearted attempt to sweep up bits before resigning myself to a messy carpet for at least the next couple of hours, we decided that we could live with each other and got busy with the baubles.
It was tactfully decided that Mini Tree should have a (discreetly concealed) plastic box to stand on, and after a trip into town to purchase a necessarily shorter string of lights from Wilkinsons (as my usual set with 200 bulbs and nigh on thirty metres of cable would have been a little OTT bearing in mind that there were other decorations to fit on too), all was well. It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that my morning routine now includes exchanging pleasantries with a Norway Spruce, but since he (I think) is a living tree in a pot it seems only polite to do so; the Christmas tree adoption programme (for those who don’t already know) is run by the Little Tree Company, who will collect Mini Tree in the New Year and look after him out in the fresh air until next December when he can come back and brighten up the place again for a month or so (and will have grown a little nearer the six foot mark too). Genius.
In other events, and without wanting to bore everybody shitless with hysterical Watchdog-esqueness (as well as being extremely un-festive) I would seriously suggest that anybody owning a Pyrex jug, bowl or casserole dish manufactured in the last few years bins it post haste – after reaching into the cupboard for mine earlier in keen anticipation of cauliflower cheese with my steak and haricots verts, the thing decided to explode as soon as I touched it (and I do mean explode not break, with accompanying loud bang) as soon as my finger brushed against it, showering me and my kitchen with little bits of flying glass ranging from dollymixture sized to tiny shards barely bigger than specks of dust. Nice.
No real harm done bar a two hour long systematic emptying and washing of everything in the cupboard (which I could have done without at eleven o’clock at night) and few little plasters on the hand, but a potentially very nasty do indeed bearing in mind anybody leaning in to look for their jug (or anyone under the age of about eight) would have surely got a faceful – picture of the remains above. I will not be buying any more Pyrex.
As anticipated, it’s been a busy week and the remainder is pretty much fully booked; I have a little free time on Saturday but that’s it! London is likewise, with a handful of appointments left and only Thursday with any significant amount of free time, but since there is always a handful of last minute cancellations I will be running the same standby list system as last year, so please do get in touch for first dibs on the stragglers – spontaneity is never such a bad thing (outside the exploding glass context, at least). The South Bank Centre just up t’road is hosting the Real Food Christmas Market from Thursday onward so in the event of any gaps there may be relatively short notice appointments available, since (let’s face it) with that on my doorstep I’m unlikely to be going far…
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