Displacement

There is boot polish in the bread bin. There are Christmas cards in the biscuit tin. There’s a patio set on the rubble pile, and there is an infinte number of additional boxes, packages and parcels squirrelled into every available nook.
In addition, the children break up from school in exactly thirty seven minutes. And then, the vague sense that I have made of The Shed today will disappear and be replaced by a visual cacophany of things everywhere – and there will be no claiming any vague sense of anything.
We have been busy doing Christmas stuff. And Christmas stuff, in my experience, involves lots of additional clutter. I have found candles and stray dolly mixtures at the bottom of my bag, interspersed with broken cocktail sticks and undelivered cards. There are oranges, still dressed in ribbons, atop the ash pile outside, and missed delivery notes litter my already laden surfaces.

This year, there is simply NO ROOM for a Christmas Tree.

But with the Funny Little Bungalow inching ever closer to habitability, I doubt I’ll have such an excuse next year…