And it's a special tree, the assistant at the garden centre said that it wouldn't loose its needles. I called it Henry.
And so when we took it home. We opened the boxes from the attic above the kitchen.
It was the smell that hit me first, it was a dusty smell, but it was festive to. So i assumed it must be the dust that had been trapped in there from last chistmas. And when we ripped the celotape from the cardboard and lifted the flaps it escaped again.
We carefully got out all of the old decorations we'd collected from all over the world. The newest edition was from the black forest in Germany. Alternatively you could have got it from Milton Keynes.
And on this pine trees hardy branches we hung all of the baul-bauls and stars and little glass trinkets and wrapped it with sprialls of coloured lights, until they bows and bent slghtly under the wieght.
It looked wonderful, there was something distinctively magical about it. We watered it everyday and by Christmas eve it was still as lush and green as the day it was brought.
In the shade under it's folidge, there were now lots of presents, all wrapped in paper and bows.
The next day they were gone. The paper was gone and he contents were waiting for the batteries that were'nt included.
Christmas is over now, the tree has only tweleve days to stand in our front room, all lit up and wieghed down. It seems so sad.