Our tiny little boat now has a tiny little tree. I picked one up yesterday at a stall on the side of the street about a fifteen minute walk from home. To qualify it had to be small enough for me to carry with one hand whilst pushing the buggy with the other.
My favourite part of Christmas as I was growing up was finding a tree and decorating it. Those were the good old days when we would chop one down from the bush surrounding our house and cart it inside. The thrill of seeing the box which held all the Christmas decorations retrieved from the depths of the linen press would always hark the start of the festivities for me.
The trees here are absolutely beautiful. Perfectly conical, bushy and green ... but they just don't smell like Christmas. The smell of the pine needles was the one thing that helped me hold on to the magic of Christmas as I grew up - that and Christmas carols. So I feel a little like a fish out of water here; it's cold, the trees don't smell as they should and it's dark but suddenly all those 'Winter wonderland' songs are beginning to make sense in a way they just couldn't when it was 30 degrees!
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