I’m sorry, I don’t like our Christmas Tree this year.
Now, I know what I said last year, and I do think white trees are homosexual. However, like homosexuals, white trees fill the room with an air of brightness and chirpyness. We went green again this year, and I really, really don’t like it. Instead of dominating the room like a poof, it just sits there like a straight guy. It should be saying to me “grrr, you’ve had me in the attic for the last 11 months, I’ll show YOU what I can do, so that you maybe keep me up beyond 12th Night this year”, it instead just sits there and takes my abuse like a man.
The problem comes when you get close (as the picture above shows). It is an utter chaos state up close. Maybe it’s because I’ve done a shit load of design work this year, but I just find my tree clattered and uncoordinated. It’s become so much of a problem with me that I actually refuse to spend much time in the lounge now. That, and of course I can skype Han senseless in my room and nobody’d be none the wiser…
Seriously, it’s got to go before 12th Night.
I also cannot help feel guilty asking my mum to buy me a book for Christmas: The Blog Digest 2007. The unnofficial sequel to 2005; Blogged (the latter compiled by Tim Worstall, the former compiled by Justin McKeating. I’m in neither). Mum has a cut off period where she goes from “give me your suggestions, I have fuck all clue what to get you” to “Stop with your suggestions, I got you Fimbles’ DVD, and you better love it!”. I had missed the cutoff period, and boy – did I know about it. I simply said in return that I didn’t know you were stopping shopping, but now I feel like I’m going to hell.
Oh, and we’ve discovered a bonus use for the flat screen TV. Now cards from ungreatful members of the family which we felt we had to put on the TV for the world to see can now be safely relegated into the general mish mash. That TV is turning out to be the gift that keeps on giving.