Yesterday afternoon I bought a Christmas tree.
Yesterday evening Innes decorated it.
This morning I started berating it.
Berating’s like decorating, but with insults. It was festive berating though:
“Tree, I’d offer you a mince pie, but you’re a tree.”
“Tree, you’re more garish than the geranium.”
“Tree, you have more balls than a ping-pong championship in a pea factory.”
“Tree, what’s more humiliating, being a Christmas tree or being a toilet roll?”
And then, one lone tic of encouragement:
“Chin up tree, it’s almost over.”
Whatever my tics might have to say, I do love the Christmas tree a lot, and it’s made the castle feel very festive.