Ylloh fo shguob htiw llah eht kced

Epiphany, and the dogs are very pleased that it’s Twelfth Night, the Last Day of Christmas, and the decorations have come down. The only place for the tree if it’s to be kept reasonably safe from being knocked over or peed on on a regular basis is on the chest under the bay window in the sitting-room. Unfortunately this is the only furniture the boys are usually allowed on, and their favourite place for swearing at callers at the front door. A tree in this position also blocks out some 80% of the light coming in through the window leaving us groping around in forest-gloom in the middle of the day.

But now it’s down, and out in the garden ready for replanting in the Scrooge-like hope that it’ll survive till next Christmas to be uprooted once more. Judging by the trail of needles left as I manoeuvred it out of the house, I’m not holding out any great hopes. The decorations are all packed away in the boxes to be put up in the loft next time anyone goes up (hopefully before summer), and the cards un-blutakked from the wall. Once I’ve managed to vacuum up all the shed needles so that we don’t get stabbed in the foot Genie Towers will be back to what passes for normality. Probably.