It’s not even New Year’s Day yet, and my Christmas tree is a sorry sight, drooping sadly and moulting badly.
It might last another couple of days if I’m lucky, as long as we tip-toe round it quietly and don’t make any sudden movements.
Every year I have some kind of trauma with my tree, and that’s even before we get to the whole ethical dilemma of whether or not to buy a real one. More of that in a moment. First, the anger.
Two years ago I paid a fortune for a fine fir, with a hefty surcharge added to get it delivered. But when the surly guy arrived he refused to bring it into the house citing “health and safety” reasons and eventually threw it, literally threw it, into the hall. I was raging.
And so it goes on. There’s always something unpleasant about the purchase or delivery that leaves my blood boiling. And I know this says far more about me than the Christmas tree trade.
This year, though, I thought I was smart buying a small, super-cheap one from the local supermarket.
Of course, you get what you pay for. And only days into the festive period it was already on its last legs.
So, I’m determined to buy an artificial one next year. They are becoming ever-more popular. And quite rightly.
I mean, why on earth are we cutting down trees purely to decorate our homes for a matter of weeks when we face a climate-change crisis? It’s such a waste.
I know most councils recycle them but there are other ingenious ways to re-use them.
A group in Ayr is urging locals to bring their old trees down to the beach in January where they’re going to be used to restore sand dunes and prevent coastal erosion. It’s a great idea.
But the “real tree” dilemma is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Christmas excess.
When I see houses lit up with so many Christmas lights and dancing Santas that you could see them from space, I don’t think, how lovely. I just think what a waste of electricity.
And, at the risk of sounding a little Scroogey why do we have to buy so many presents that we neither need nor want?
My children had to rack their brains when I asked them what they wanted. So you just end up buying stuff for the sake of it.
We never get the things we really want, like a dog or a new car, or your mortgage paid off, for instance. So I just think what’s the point? I realise this might sound a little Grinchy.
I should probably apologise to my family here and thank them for all my lovely presents. (Yes, I do sound ungrateful and, yes, I understand you won’t be getting me anything next year.)
So I’ve decided I’m going to walk the walk and, rather than just banging on about waste and profligacy, I am going to do my bit by not buying anything new in 2020.
That means no new clothes or books or just stuff in general.
I’m sure my husband will be delighted to hear this.