The approach to Christmas brings to the fore all of the customs and rituals of our family that make it such a special time.
Just today I have telephoned the butcher to order the turkey.
That sounds like quite an ordinary thing to do but the butcher is in the the town where we used to live and we moved away just over 2 years ago. In the 23 years of living there I think that the sum total of my visits to the butcher's shop was, yes 23, and specifically for the poultry order. In spite of the regular infrequency, if that is a true definition, the staff always welcomed me as though I was in and out as part of a weekly shopping routine. Today's phone call, a bit impersonal I know, was no different and it was a case of "Oh hello Mr T, what can we do for you this year?". If I dither over the weight of the bird then my near quarter of a century record of purchases seems to have been retained somewhere in the expansive archive of the shop and can be recalled to remind me seemingly at an instant.
There are many other important components of our traditional family Christmas from searching out the box of decorations from the far recesses of the roof space, unravelling the mysteriously entwined coloured lights even if carefully placed in a neat arrangement some 12 months before, buying enough cards so as not to be caught out by a surprise delivery from old friends, finding an assured supply of satsuma's and Brussel Sprouts and having a meeting to decide i)the protocol for pyjama day (a sacred occasion whereby all of us flop out for the day and refuse to answer the door and telephone) and ii) whether that day should include a showing of the authentic black and white or re-mastered colour version of Capra's "A Wonderful Life".
The foregoing are all within our control which means that we just have to delegate tasks to ensure that everything arrives on the doorstep in time.
Something is, however, radically different this year.
If I can be forgiven for borrowing a famous line from Star Wars and with not long before the release of the seventh movie in the franchise "I sense a disturbance in the firs".
I refer of course to the seeking out and purchase of the Christmas Tree.
As with our loyalty to the previously local butcher we have visited the same garden centre (now well on the other side of town) for the last 25 or so years for this critical aspect of the celebrations.
They have always had a good stock of fresh trees, unwrapped and so able to be rotated and eyed up as though in a beauty pageant.
What are we looking for in a tree?
Well, a bit of natural symmetry, depth of greenery, reasonable height, non-drop needles and the promise of a wonderful pine smell to greet us every morning on the run up to December 25th and for as long as possible until twelfth night.
In the old house, a 1920's build we could accommodate a seven foot tree plus the stand and a second tree was bought to sit on the open balcony on the front elevation. Having moved to a boxy 1970's place (where I can on tip-toes touch the ceiling) we are somewhat restricted to between five and six feet.
The custom of driving up to the garden centre on the second saturday in December was always highly anticipated. One year, on an impulse we bought a tree that would not fit inside the car and so had to strap it crudely to the roofbars and make a long roundabout route home to avoid cross winds and the attention of the police.
The cause for concern this year is that the garden centre is no more.
It was a longstanding and multi-generational family business which had developed over a series of fields on the eastern edge of a sought after commuter village. Inevitably as the demand for residence in the village grew so the land would come to the attention of a house builder and sure enough, as I speak, the first foundation slabs for oversized and overpriced executive dwellings are in place.
In the summer the stock, barrels and locks of the family operation were sold off and we have, over the ensuing 6 months, struggled with the prospect of having to go elsewhere for our Christmas Tree.
We have not as yet resolved the dilemna and it is getting increasingly closer to the weekend on which the purchase must be made.
In a perfect world we may have sought testimonials from potential suppliers and customer feedback from past shoppers but we are, we realise, completely on our own on this.
To be continued...........................................................................................
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