I might not have my Christmas tree up yet like my neighbour, but I am feeling a itch to get myself a little one here at the flat. Up to now I seem to have been scratching that Christmas itch by collecting Advent calendars.
I have the ordinary sort, you know the ones with just pictures that are revealed day by day throughout December, with no chocolate piece or trinket falling from the door as you open it in eager anticipation of being one more day closer to Christmas ... the sort I had as a child.
My Dad used to take them off us when the decorations came down after Christmas. Long after the big reveal of Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus in the stable as we opened the final and biggest door on Christmas Eve, and then he would fasten all the little doors back down again for next year. We never minded, I guess in those days lots of people did that it wasn't such a throw away society back then.
Mine is currently balanced precariously on the little table alongside the Poinsettia that Alan bought me as a joint housewarming/apology for killing your last one gift when he first came to visit the flat.