Last week rabbiting was I, about Christmas Trees: though they are not really part of our tradition. Since 1975, when The Boy was just born, we've leaned towards a Christmas Twig. This year, as for the last tuthree, I cut off a spreading oak (Quercus robur) branch, about 4cm ⌀ at the butt and 2.5m to the last twig. Here it be, trimmed slightly to ensure it sticks to the ceiling rather than poking any eyes. And bedecked and bejewelled with half a century of fetish, bauble, memory. Also an unwalk-on part for the new sofa.
God bless us every one!
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