I hate that Christmas tree with a passion. Last night as I was just crawling carefully underneath it to give the ungrateful beast some water, and it did something dreadful – the bloody thing fell over on top of me (again,again,again).
Have you ever lay on the floor with a fully decorated, still bloody twinkling seriously heavy Christmas tree on top of you? I have.
To say Christmas had got on top of me would be something of an understatement.
I howled, I shrieked, I swore and boy did I cry.
Idgy had to drag me out from under it's now Sleep Hollow type clutching branches.
We hauled it upright between us, there were shattered baubles everywhere. Treasured memories from a lifetime now just twinkling pieces of coloured glass, broken and smashed beyond any hope of recovery.
I'm not in the least proud of my behaviour last night, I said things that shouldn't be said and I let stress take over completely.
Phone neighbours for help . Between 4 of us we get the tree upright again, the wood box under is emptied and all reloaded with a jigsaw masterpiece of wood that wedges the loathsome shrub into place.
We stand back, and step on the shattered remains of Christmas past. Christmas present mocks me in its green prickly splendour.
"Can we help you patch it up a bit?" they ask kindly. No, in the immortal words of Scarlett O'Hara – "I'll think about it tomorrow".