Off to the garden centre for a Christmas tree. We always have a Christmas tree. Usually one that's at least 12 feet tall and will barely fit through the front door. A special time of the year when Angus, armed with a large glass of Gods amber nectar, deals with face slapping branches, missing light bulbs, wobbly step ladders and falling ornaments.
The arrival of the two little angels with their boundless energy and their '' if it's within reach, chew it " attitude to life means a rethink. Glass baubles, electrical cable and enticing branches the stuff of dog owners nightmares.
By this time last year all the big trees had gone from the garden centre.This year the place is full of large trees but the small ones have all been sold. All, that is, apart from the top of a large tree that has had an accident and snapped off. We pay the large tree price ( ' do you want it monsieur or not ? ' says the less than charming check out lady when I quibble about the price ) and head home with our three and a half foot pine.
'' It looks very jolly " comments 'the font' when the tree is unveiled. Damned with faint praise ? Bob and Sophie are so far undecided as to how to respond to this new addition to the house.