Of Flatmates and Fluorescence
This weekend flatmate Naomi brought home a fluorescent pink glowing Christmas tree. Now, while I'm all for a bit or even a lot of tack, pinkness and sparkle, this is taking things just a tad too far- so its now plugged in at the far end of the hall by the lift where it will, I imagine, remain until our delightful chav neighbours decide to liberate it. Although, that said, it's been in place for about four days now and its still in place and without amusing graffiti- pink radiation may have previously unforeseen power over the negative forces of the world.
An alternative Christmas tree was thenceforth required- which somehow necessitated a walk to Euston station in the rain, and a visit to the countryside, where we gathered sticks. Have you ever tried to smuggle branches on to a Virgin train? And yourself into first class? Not fun, even if the forty year old desperately single pot smoking men in the same carriage are willing to share.
And I spent most of Saturday evening sitting in the doorway to our building watching They With Whom I Live spray our ruthlessly garnered twigs silver and gold, although my cautious distance didnÂt, unfortunately, stop me from magically getting indelible silver paint in my haiaginging me by about 40 years; I look far more like my mother than I previously thought or am anything close to comfortable with. Lack of scissors resulted in the ruthless removal of silver hairs with nail clippers.
I now look like I've been on the losing side of a tussle with a lawnmower- or my hairdresser. But on the plus side, our nouveau-ish Christmas tree looks fabulous, which I suppose is, in the spirit of Christmas and good will, all that really matters.
So that's phase one of the Christmas preparations finally done and dusted-that'sthats left is card giving and present buying. I hate this bit. The little bundle of charm that is Naomi reckons this is because I can't just sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else do it for me, an accusation I'm happy to admit to, because its perfectly true and there's just no use at all in denying it.
An alternative Christmas tree was thenceforth required- which somehow necessitated a walk to Euston station in the rain, and a visit to the countryside, where we gathered sticks. Have you ever tried to smuggle branches on to a Virgin train? And yourself into first class? Not fun, even if the forty year old desperately single pot smoking men in the same carriage are willing to share.
And I spent most of Saturday evening sitting in the doorway to our building watching They With Whom I Live spray our ruthlessly garnered twigs silver and gold, although my cautious distance didnÂt, unfortunately, stop me from magically getting indelible silver paint in my haiaginging me by about 40 years; I look far more like my mother than I previously thought or am anything close to comfortable with. Lack of scissors resulted in the ruthless removal of silver hairs with nail clippers.
I now look like I've been on the losing side of a tussle with a lawnmower- or my hairdresser. But on the plus side, our nouveau-ish Christmas tree looks fabulous, which I suppose is, in the spirit of Christmas and good will, all that really matters.
So that's phase one of the Christmas preparations finally done and dusted-that'sthats left is card giving and present buying. I hate this bit. The little bundle of charm that is Naomi reckons this is because I can't just sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else do it for me, an accusation I'm happy to admit to, because its perfectly true and there's just no use at all in denying it.
posted by Imogen @ 11:04 am
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