Shylock

Yep, that will be us in the queue to the Christmas tree farm up in the Dublin mountains (well, the pre-queue, before we could even make it into the car park...)

At least this year's Christmas-tree-tears were spilled early, even before having set eyes on the said tree, out of frustration and sibling bickering on the back seat.

We did eventually get there.

The tree was picked. The mark of the Condemned was placed upon it. And the Grim Reaper was called (well, once we got to the top of the queue for the Chainsaw man).

The kids were thrilled. Until I told them that ours is a Mummy tree, and that her baby trees up the field must have felt very sad to see her cut down and dragged away without a chance to say goodbye.

It seemed to work. I don't think I'll ever have to spend money again on a shaggin tree...


As usual, there was much excitement when the time to decorate it came, and there were hardly any incidents, surprisingly no fights (!!!) and even some willing cooperation (!!!!!!)