Bah Humbug – Part 13

Day 13 – Christmas Trees

When I was a kid….wait..have you noticed how most of these posts refer to moments when I was a child? Hmmm…patterns….

Yeah…as I was saying. When I was younger, every year my dad would go up the ladder into the loft and get the musty old boxes filled with decorations. One of those boxes contained a green plastic tree which you would put together bit by bit. It was state of the art. Cutting edge. Made in Taiwan.

There was another tree in the house. This was a silver flu brush, wire draped with silver tinsel. It would be placed in the porch draped with fairy lights. My Nan had a similar one, only hers was green tinsel.

When the exwife and I spent our first Christmas together we had a tree which was one of those put them together ones, a bit like the one my olds had. This tree did us several years until the great cat-astrophic Christmas of 2005 when we considered it wise not to bother putting it up again.

Anyway, trees…now if at any other time of the year someone went out to chop down a tree and bring it into their house you would probably call social services. I mean, why bother? They’re usually full of spiders and creepies anyway and having a whopping great lump of foliage that’s going to drop needles all over the carpet is hardly going to do the vacuum cleaner any good is it?

I mean I can understand the plastic ones and the flue brush ones but why people take real ones in in this day and age I have no idea. “Oh but stegzy it’s so much more than that, it is aesthetic”.  Well what a load of cock. If having to trap spiders and other creepies is aesthetic why don’t you just nip out to the garden and scoop a few up from underneath the rockery and sprinkle them liberally around your front room. Then, while you’re at it, grab a few leaves and pine needles if they are at hand and scatter them about too. You’ll soon have that authentic Christmassy feel.

Author: stegzy

Once, long ago, I wrote frequently on Livejournal. I then moved to Blogspot, where I discovered that blogging requires an audience. So I moved back to LJ. Then over to Dreamwidth, back to LJ, up the road of self hosting with Muckybadger before giving up entirely and moving over to Wordpress. It was at that moment I decided I would spread my compostual nonsense simultaneously across the blogosphere like some rancid margarine. And so here I am. I am a badger. But then I'm not really a badger. I am a human. With badger like tendencies. I am a writer, a film producer and a social commentator. I am available for Breakfast TV shows, documentaries and chats in the pub with journalists where I am more than qualified enough to talk confidently about absolute shite and bollocks.

One thought on “Bah Humbug – Part 13”

  1. Dear Scrooge,

    I’m a bit anti all Christmas extremes as well but the tree holds special memories for me.

    Going back to my youth, much longer ago than I care to mention, my rather religious mother would resist the temptation to have a tree in the house until Christmas Eve. On the morning of the 24th we would wait for the expressive nod from the matriarch in answer to our pleas of: “Can we go get the tree now?” We would then scour the farm for either a small branch of a fir tree (as this involved climbing large fir/pine trees to lop off a branch with which to adorn our sitting room I preferred our second option)! We would seek out a suitable holly tree, or two branches tied back to back, and use that. Not only were holly trees much easier to obtain they came with a built in shiny lustre. As we did not have lights (we couldn’t afford them) shiny but battered baubles and shabby tinsel would be draped all over the tree/branches and if, joy of joys, we were using a holly tree the leaves seemed to catch any sparkle from the varied decorations and intensify it. However, do not imagine our beloved tree was a thing of beauty. To three extremely excited children it was beyond compare but to my father, who drove a van and travelled to other farms, it was a humbly adorned embarrassment! Over the Christmas period the cry of: “Get the blanket!” meant that his little brood would hastily drape the aforementioned item over our tree so that visitors to our humble dwelling would not be offended by the site of a lop-sided, cheaply decorated bit of greenery stuck in a spare pail (bucket) in the corner of the room. If they (the visitors) chose to think that we were in the act of painting the sitting room over the Christmas period so much the better as far as my father was concerned! However, all these years later, and the excited anticipation, frenzied excitement and concentrated effort of getting and decorating our little stump of the outside brought indoors is one of my fondest memories of Christmas times of yore.


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