Some of my best friends are the kind of people who put up their Christmas trees in late November. I don’t know how I even know them, but I do. There is a house near me so lit up that Greta Thunberg needs to sit outside it in protest. If she doesn’t, I will.
Perhaps we all need a bit of cheer, or perhaps we are all a bit bonkers, or perhaps, as I keep reading, no one has a Christmas tree any more so that it looks pretty, but so they can put it on Instagram. That is what Jesus would have wanted, I’m sure.
Instagram fascinates me because I have never once put a picture on it but I still have followers. I guess that’s modern life for you: wait long enough and, who knows, maybe you will get a glimpse of my very special tree and it will all be worthwhile. A word to the wise: don’t bother.
As with so many things, this is about “fashion” and size. Size matters. We used to be happy with a 4ft tree but now seven-footers are apparently selling well. Do these people live in castles? “Pre-lit” trees are in. I am not sure what this means, although one year I did put candles on the tree, Scandi-style, and had to be stopped from lighting them. I have pyromaniac tendencies, despite having burned down my flat.
We now have more lights than ever: 160 bulbs used do, now it’s closer than to 500. Nativity sets are booming. Are we more religious? I hardly think so. My favourite remains the infamous “meat nativity” that featured cocktail sausages as Mary, Joseph, Jesus and the three wise men
Advent calendars are now full of gin, wine and super-expensive makeup. For grown ups, presumably, but who can possibly say?
What a production. Whatever happened to paper chains and spray-painted twigs? I already wish I hadn’t mentioned that. Some posh type is probably making a programme about it as we speak.
