Someone should look into the phenomenon of the disappearing Christmas tree decorations. I know that some of them disappear because they are wilfully destroyed. In my (youthful) case for something of the same reason given for the arsonist in Tom Lehrer’s immortal song ‘My home Town’:
I remember Sam, he was the village idiot,
And though it seems a pity, it
Was so.
He loved to burn down houses just to watch the glow,
And nothing could be done,
Because he was the mayor's son.
Thinking about it, there wasn’t really that much similarity; I did not burn the decorations and I certainly wasn’t the ‘mayor’s son’ – though in Maesteg I was introduced to Father Christmas in the Masonic Children’s Party as my grandfather’s grandson, rather than my parents’ son: my grandfather having been a past Master of the Lodge!
I remember Sam, he was the village idiot,
And though it seems a pity, it
Was so.
He loved to burn down houses just to watch the glow,
And nothing could be done,
Because he was the mayor's son.
Thinking about it, there wasn’t really that much similarity; I did not burn the decorations and I certainly wasn’t the ‘mayor’s son’ – though in Maesteg I was introduced to Father Christmas in the Masonic Children’s Party as my grandfather’s grandson, rather than my parents’ son: my grandfather having been a past Master of the Lodge!
And it was my grandparents’ decorations that I destroyed. They were glass and hanging on a real tree, which also had real candles in those little crimped circular holders that pinched onto a branch. The tree was in the ‘television room’ and in a corner by the side of an armchair. So, while kneeling on the arm of the chair one could pick off a glass ornament and let it fall behind the back of the chair where it made a wonderfully plashingly sharp sound as the ornament shattered. It was exhilaratingly addictive and, even though the tree looked increasingly patchy the sound was so much more interesting than a dull, static invitation to destruction. So, like Sam, I smashed them just to hear the sound.
I didn’t really consider the consequences or the evidence: the sound was such a self contained moment of pleasure that it seemed to exist only for that moment. It was as if the baubles had been made for that momentary gloriously brittle explosion.
Amazingly my vandalism was discovered and the gentle pile of shards exposed to vulgar view. And then that quintessentially adult question which ignores the fact that childhood is a galaxy away from their experience: “Why did you do it?” Now let’s be fair: Everest had been climbed in 1953 and Hillary had given his famous answer to the perennial question and I remember thinking [this next bit is not strictly true] surely what he said then could cover what I had done now. Try it once, I thought, and you would never ask the question again!
Leaving aside juvenile destruction why do some decorations seem to be swallowed up by the tree? As my artificial tree is in storage (like the rest of my life) I had to buy a token tree. Which I did: three foot in its stockinged feet. At last, I thought, this is a tree where decorations will have nowhere to hide.
Wrong.
I don’t know how it does it but does it has. A value collection of gaudy baubles has been swallowed by this miniscule arboreal monster.
Perhaps we should readjust our attitude towards rubbish disposal and instead of putting it into those plastic sacks we should merely decorate trees with the refuse: I’m sure that they would act like domestic black holes and take many times their own weight and volume of household waste before any further action for disposal need be taken. Then they could be used in power stations as energy efficient fuel.
I have noticed that tasteful red decorations do not give true value for money on a green tree and my basic postulate that, “You can never be too vulgar in Christmas tree decoration” stands.
As I am going away for Christmas I am faced with the perennial question of whether to take down the decorations before I go off to Catalonia or rather leave them up because we will be back well before Twelfth Night and therefore can have a festive boost in the January dark days. Decisions! Decisions!
Meanwhile the work for the BBC goes on. Steve has held out the chance of some work for an arts programme which seems interesting and might be able to utilise some of the rejected ideas from Radio 4. Some of my tentative ideas seem to have legs, so I’m now convinced!
Write on!
I didn’t really consider the consequences or the evidence: the sound was such a self contained moment of pleasure that it seemed to exist only for that moment. It was as if the baubles had been made for that momentary gloriously brittle explosion.
Amazingly my vandalism was discovered and the gentle pile of shards exposed to vulgar view. And then that quintessentially adult question which ignores the fact that childhood is a galaxy away from their experience: “Why did you do it?” Now let’s be fair: Everest had been climbed in 1953 and Hillary had given his famous answer to the perennial question and I remember thinking [this next bit is not strictly true] surely what he said then could cover what I had done now. Try it once, I thought, and you would never ask the question again!
Leaving aside juvenile destruction why do some decorations seem to be swallowed up by the tree? As my artificial tree is in storage (like the rest of my life) I had to buy a token tree. Which I did: three foot in its stockinged feet. At last, I thought, this is a tree where decorations will have nowhere to hide.
Wrong.
I don’t know how it does it but does it has. A value collection of gaudy baubles has been swallowed by this miniscule arboreal monster.
Perhaps we should readjust our attitude towards rubbish disposal and instead of putting it into those plastic sacks we should merely decorate trees with the refuse: I’m sure that they would act like domestic black holes and take many times their own weight and volume of household waste before any further action for disposal need be taken. Then they could be used in power stations as energy efficient fuel.
I have noticed that tasteful red decorations do not give true value for money on a green tree and my basic postulate that, “You can never be too vulgar in Christmas tree decoration” stands.
As I am going away for Christmas I am faced with the perennial question of whether to take down the decorations before I go off to Catalonia or rather leave them up because we will be back well before Twelfth Night and therefore can have a festive boost in the January dark days. Decisions! Decisions!
Meanwhile the work for the BBC goes on. Steve has held out the chance of some work for an arts programme which seems interesting and might be able to utilise some of the rejected ideas from Radio 4. Some of my tentative ideas seem to have legs, so I’m now convinced!
Write on!
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