As much as I love spending Christmas at home, there's one aspect of my family's holiday traditions that I've never liked: our artificial Christmas tree. We've had it for probably a decade or more, but I'm just as against it as when we first got it. True, we don't find pine needles around our house for months (and months) afterwards, but it's just not the same!
With this in mind, you can imagine how pleased I was when I found out Ben's family (who I'm spending Christmas with this year) not only get a real tree every year, but they dig it up themselves. So earlier this afternoon, off the six of us went to a nearby Christmas tree... farm? (or field? forest? I'm not really sure what you'd call it) in search of the perfect tree.
Ben's mum Julie wanted a smaller tree...
... but she was outnumbered by those of us in favour of something slightly larger.
Once we'd all agreed on a tree, it was just a matter of digging it up (a job the girls left in the capable hands of Ben and his dad Dave).
It got wrapped up...
... and we brought it home!
Then, after nearly an hour spent untangling lights (a universal Christmas problem, it seems), stringing tinsel and hanging ornaments, voila!
Unsurprisingly, turns out I'm a big fan of going out and getting your own (real!) tree. Plus, it smells amazing - I'm enjoying the scent of pine (and watching Elf) as we speak! Only 18 days until my first English Christmas!