The Utter Trauma of Taking the Tree Down

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Apparently, the Queen leaves her Christmas tree up until February.

And I know this because I recently binge watched three royal-themed documentaries back to back on Channel 5.  Why watch The Crown on Netflix when you can have the real deal on Freeview complete with soundbites from a couple of the Daily Mail’s finest royal correspondents and that woman who  was on Big Brother that time who knows the Queen’s cousin?  Despite feeling like I am effectively part of Royal history myself, given that the Queen Mother once waved to me from a limousine, I found myself thinking “Poor Queenie, she’s like that tree up the road from my mum’s house last year, which kept taunting me well into February with its flashing Christmas lights, reminding me that Christmas is over and it’s still dark and depressing and we’re all going to die of Seasonal Affective Disorder.”

Well, now I think she might be onto something.  My tree is still standing proud-as proud as it can for a fake tree.  I never realised how much I wanted a real one until I saw other people’s, in bigger and more impressive windows-even though everyone in the street has taken down their Christmas lights and I am now back to work.  Why let go of the festive season so fast?  Far be it for me to turn into one of those people who crawl out of the woodwork every Christmas for a feature in a low-rent tabloid about how they eat a full turkey dinner every day of the year, replete with paper hat and fading tinsel, but I am not looking forward to the day when the decorations inevitably have to come down, and the room will seem empty once more without a glowing tree right in the middle of it.  Instead of being a constant reminder that it’s no longer Christmas, the tree has become a reminder that as long as it is up, it’s still technically acceptable to drink Bailey’s on a school night (not that I have been chugging Bailey’s in the evenings since work returned.  If only there was time) and have a cupboard full of chocolate.

And besides, it’s not even 6th January yet.  The Adoration of the Magi is yet to occur, so get out the gold, frankincense and myrrh.  Perhaps we were too quick to open our presents and should have waited until now.  I can understand why some people are quick to take the tree down.  They want to get it over with, I suppose, like pulling a plaster off a days-old wound, and get on with the important business of returning to work and starting afresh with a spring clean to get rid of the pine cones and a New Year’s resolution to be teetotal and run a marathon a week; but as far as I’m concerned, January is not the time.  January is the time for sitting on the sofa waiting for it all to be over, the nights to grow shorter and Spring to be in the air, and until then, the tree can stay up.  If it’s good enough for the Royals, it’s good enough for me.

Then again, isn’t in bad luck to keep it up after the 6th?  Maybe I’ll take it down after all.  Don’t want to chance it, not with it being a new year and all.

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