Nicky Marr: Our Christmas tree is the story of us
I LIKE to wait till December is in double figures before starting to get ready for Christmas.
Granted, it makes for a ridiculously frantic fortnight, but that intensity adds to the magic.
On Saturday morning, we got the boxes down from the loft and decorated the tree. It’s a real tree, bought, as ever, direct from the farm.
Our trip to the Black Isle to choose the tree, then to haul it home and bring it and its fresh, piney fragrance into the living room, is the official start of the season. That, and the Eden Court panto, of course.
Once the tree has been unwrapped, and is relaxing back into shape, we open the Christmas boxes to unpack the memories that have been infused into our eclectic, taste-free, assortment of decorations.
They tell the story of our lives together, starting with a well-repaired set of 24 tiny wooden toys, bought to decorate our first tiny tree. They must be 35 years old now.
Every year we have acquired new additions, and there’s still one surviving paper-plate angel, preciously and proudly brought home from nursery over 20 years ago.
She presides, squint-eyed, over a garishly coloured army of decorations, either picked up on holiday, or gifted by friends, and family – some even knitted by an aunt who is no longer with us. Others were bought at craft fairs and Christmas stalls as the notion struck. The origins of some are now a mystery. But they all have their place.
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This year’s addition is a green pottery tree, chosen from a shop in Annecy on a day that must have reached 32 degrees. It so perfectly matches the colour of the tree that we can barely see it. But next year, when it’s unwrapped again, we’ll be taken straight back to France. In our minds, at least.
Our Christmas tree could never be described as classy, nor is it particularly Insta-worthy. But it represents what Christmas has become, which is a joyous mixture of all of us, our imperfections and foibles, our shared history, our messy, complicated lives. With Mr Marr and Daughter #1 living away from home, we can’t all get together very often. But certain things are sacred, and our Christmas traditions rank highly in that.
Which means it’s about quiet times, as well as parties. It’s about watching movies (Elf, for preference), with a glass of port, and the Stilton jar passing among us. We dive into the cheese with teaspoons. It’s about marzipan stars on top of home-made mince pies, about stockings stuffed with pants, socks, and chocolates, and queueing up on Christmas morning in height order (smallest first – that’s now me!) to see whether Santa has been.
And it’s about candles and fairy lights, and fire, all shining light into dark winter days.
Blink, and we’ll be putting the decorations back into the loft for another 11 months. I’m already looking forward to unpacking their treasures next year.
