A Tale of Two Christmas Trees

And an update on The Muffin Man, The Dog Next Door and a December marathon

Like last year, Rachel cunningly suggested I go and buy this year’s Christmas tree on a day when she was working.

With a history of choosing ridiculously oversized trees – ones that required major surgery just to fit in the house – I was determined to be sensible this time.

I eyed up a modest seven-footer in the polytunnel.

‘That’s awful!’ said Kitty.

‘I hate it,’ said Leo.

‘Yeah. It is really small,’ said Layla.

‘Seven foot is NOT small!’ I argued. ‘It’s bigger than most of the other trees in here.’

The tree man overheard us and wandered over.

‘We do have a few bigger ones in the next barn. They are more like 10 or 11 feet, though.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I think we’re happy with this one.’

But all three children had already wandered off.

‘10 or 11 feet?’ said Kitty. ‘Yeah, that’s more like it.’

‘Fine! We can go and look,’ I called after them. ‘But we are NOT getting an 11-footer. I really liked that one back there.’

We followed the tree man outside and into the neighbouring barn.

‘This is a lovely one,’ he said as he hauled one of the horizontal trees upright. Leo – now 15 – is already six foot tall, but he suddenly looked like a toddler next to this tree.

‘No, that one is WAY too big. We’ve never had one that size before,’ I said.

‘Wow! It’s amazing,’ said Layla.

‘Yeah, but it’s far too big. You’re not the one who will have to get it to stand upright.’

The three of them began piling on the guilt big time.

‘We’ll pay the difference,’ said Leo.

‘It’s not about the price. I honestly don’t think it will fit in our house. We’ll end up having to cut it in half.’

The tree man stood their smiling. He knew I wasn’t going to win this argument.

‘It is a very nice tree,’ he added.

‘It will fit,’ said Kitty. ‘I’m sure it will.’

There was a long silence as I weighed up the stress of me dealing with a stupidly big tree versus the guilt of three children staring at me like I’d ruined Christmas forever.

‘Ok, fine! We’ll get that one. But when it doesn’t fit, I want you all to remember that I said it was a bad idea.’

Having taken our money, the tree man promptly disappeared, leaving me and three children to somehow wrangle the unwieldy, un-nettable, 11-foot tree onto the roof of our van.

This wasn’t just the tallest tree we’d ever bought; it was by far the densest. Every branch was packed so tightly together it felt like hauling a green, spiky anvil.

It took all four of us – and 15 minutes of grunting, sweating, and swearing under my breath (I knew choosing this fucking tree was a bad fucking idea) – to hoist it onto the roof of the van. At several points, I nearly admitted defeat and considered asking if we could downsize.

Eventually, we strapped it down securely and started the journey home.

The eyes of every person we drove past followed our ridiculous tree. And then, a mile from home, the van began to scream in protest, making some very ominous noises from its engine. It has carried lots of heavy loads before, but I’ve never heard it squeal under the strain of extra weight.

When we arrived home, Rachel – who had the misfortune of getting back from work just in time to join the chaos – helped the four of us drag the beast off the roof, through the garden, and into the house.

It required a complete reshuffle of furniture to get it to fit (we now temporarily have a sofa and bookcase in a hallway), and it took a concrete block to anchor it from behind. But against all odds – and much to the delight of Layla, Leo and Kitty – it fit.

And, to be fair, it is a stunning tree. Though I’m still waiting for my smug ‘I told you so’ moment when it inevitably topples over and takes the beam and wall with it.

A few other updates for you…

The Muffin Man

I still see The Muffin Man in Tesco about once a week. Since he no longer works at the dairy, we don’t find discarded bottles of Banks’s littering the roadside near where we live. For months, his new workplace – and the roads he now drives and potentially litters – remained a mystery.

That was until a couple of weeks ago, when I followed him to his new place of work.

Expect an update to the Muffin Man saga next year.

The Dog Next Door

Tan – the Dog Next Door – still won’t come on walks with me alone. The trauma of the rook scarer incident back in early July lingers and she remains wary of trusting me. She does come into our house occasionally and always bounds up to greet me in the yard, barking excitedly at the prospect of a walk. But as soon as she realises it’s just me, she retreats to her kennel.

In early November, Tan did join me for a walk by accident. She and Ludo spotted a cyclist at the end of the drive and gave chase. I called them back and headed into the field to begin our usual loop. In recent months, Tan would have run back to her kennel before now, but the cyclist had provided a distraction and before she realised it, she was on the walk with me.

I was so thrilled that I took this photo of the two of us, thinking that I had finally been forgiven.

But she has not come out with me since. Perhaps she just doesn’t like selfies.

The Cornish Marathon

The hoodie I am wearing in the photo is from this year’s Cornish Marathon, which Rachel and I ran in November with our friend Tim. It was my eighth Cornish marathon and another ‘fun’ event. Type two fun, of course.

The hoodie is a nice pastel yellow colour, but unlike previous year’s, this one has a big logo for an estate agent on the back, which drastically reduces its charm.

December Marathon

I had been putting off December’s marathon for as long as possible, having been busy trying to finish two books. I had planned to try to squeeze it in sometime between Christmas and New Year.

But on Thursday, a misdelivered parcel changed everything.

It was meant for someone with a similar address to ours, but in a village five miles away. I planned to leave it out for the postman for it to be redirected, but knew that by the time it made it back into the system, there was a strong likelihood it would not get delivered before Christmas.

Rachel also needed a hand moving a driftwood Christmas tree she’d built as part of her work at 12.30 on Friday afternoon. The tree was currently in a church five miles in the opposite direction and she’d need my help to get it home.

That’s when I had an idea. I could combine both errands into my monthly marathon. Suddenly, I had a purpose.

For most of my monthly marathons, I set off with expectations of being finished in about four and a half hours. But almost all of them end up being upwards of five and a half, leaving me feeling demoralised as the hours tick by.

This time, I set off five and half hours before I was due to meet Rachel, which eased the pressure and made the whole thing feel a little more relaxed.

I left home at 7 am, with a Santa hat for warmth and a head torch to light the way.

Just after 8 am, I’d successfully delivered the parcel to its rightful owner, as the sun began to rise.

I then headed out towards the South West Coast Path, which I followed for 16 miles.

The wind was cold and biting but I never regret a day out on the Devon coast.

Five and half hours wasn’t quite enough time, and I hobbled up to meet Rachel outside the church five minutes later than planned.

‘You made it! Well done,’ she said. ‘I bet carrying a driftwood Christmas tree is just what you want to do at the end of a marathon.’

‘It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last five and half hours.’

We walked down the gravel path and into the church.

‘I want to try to keep it intact,’ she said. ‘It’s really time-consuming to dismantle so I’d like keep the decorations on it if possible.’

I looked at the tree sceptically.

‘Ok. They look like they are dangling quite precariously already.’

‘It’s ok. I’ll walk behind and pick up any that fall off.’

The tree was a lot heavier and more awkward than it looked. Before I’d even managed to pick it up, several decorations clattered to the floor. I shuffled down the aisle half a step at a time, my arms and legs burning under the strain. Suddenly, the marathon felt like the easy part of the day.

Two elderly ladies were meticulously sweeping the church floor with dustpans and brushes, preparing for a funeral the next day. Each time a decoration hit the floor, a cloud of glitter exploded in its wake. I heard them sigh.

‘Sorry,’ I wheezed, my voice struggling under the weight of the tree.

To get it through the church doors, I had to perform an ambitious squat with the tree, which triggered intense leg cramps. For a moment, I genuinely thought I might never straighten up again.

‘Oh my god! Jesus Christ, this is hard,’ I shouted, wondering if I would be struck down for my blasphemy inside a place of worship. At least I would have been put out of my misery.

Once outside, I then had the wind to fight against too.

‘Careful!’ said Rachel. ‘It’s bending quite a lot.’

‘I’m trying my best!’ I gasped.

My back had now gone into full spasm too, but the floor was too far away for me to put it down, and I thought it would probably be frowned upon for me to rest the tree on a gravestone, so staggered on. The knots of the tree trunk base were cutting into my hands, and I found myself wondering how much of it would survive if I just let it drop.

The relief when I finally put it into the back of the van was immense.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rachel. ‘But that was hilarious to watch. Well done.’

‘I’m glad you found it funny. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. I feel completely broken.’

When we got home, I had to repeat the process over the shorter but equally painful distance between the van and our house. By the time I placed the tree in the corner of the room, my entire body was broken.

Then, staggeringly, Rachel began removing all the decorations.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, stunned.

‘Taking the decorations off. I thought we’d put some different ones on instead.’

‘Why didn’t we do that in the church?’

‘I thought it would take too long.’

‘But you knew you were going to take them off when we got home?’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

‘So you just… let me wrestle a fully decorated tree out of a church and into the van for no reason?’

‘Err… yeah, sorry. I didn’t really think it through.’

I stared at her, too exhausted to formulate a response, and then hobbled upstairs for a shower.

So now we have two trees. Both beautiful, in their own way. And both of them came very close to destroying me.

Christmas always feels like a roller coaster of highs and lows, and I didn’t make things any easier for myself this year by trying to publish two books.

And then our van broke down last week. I don’t think it was connected to the weight of that 11-foot Christmas tree, but looking back now, I’m sure it must have been a factor. It then failed its MOT in the same week, and left us with a hefty repair bill, providing a serious dent to my already fragile Christmas spirit.

But, the following morning, I received a letter in the post.

In 2015, I had surgery to remove a spinal cord tumour. For five years, I had annual MRI scans, which have since tapered off to every two years. These days, I rarely think about my back (unless I’m lugging oversized Christmas trees), and I don’t feel any weaker or more vulnerable than I did before the surgery. But when the results letter arrives, there’s always a flicker of nervousness as I open it.

This year, I was relieved to see those all-important words again: I am pleased to inform you...

Suddenly, the van repairs, the MOT failure, and even the ludicrous tree seemed laughably insignificant. All I could think was how grateful I was to be here and to be healthy.

Thank you again for all your support this year. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.

In case you missed my post earlier this week, I have two new books out. Both available in paperback and on Kindle.

Make Funny: https://mybook.to/makefunny

Things I’d Tell My Teenage Self: https://mybook.to/TITMTS