I'm buying a real Christmas tree in Edinburgh, but it's going to be a learning curve
I’m ready for the real thing
There were many objects that were culled on my recent property move.
Most of the edits made me feel a bit sentimental and sad, but none as much as the plastique fantastique Christmas tree that had served us for about 20 winters.
I think we got it from somewhere like Edinburgh’s iconic shop Ali’s Cave - aka the late cavern of household miscellany.
It had served us well, but towards the end it only had three legs, like a dog who had been hit by a car. The box it came in had been ripped open and taped up again a million times.
The mummified and gaping bits of cardboard were being held together by a web of strings.
It had a couple of shonky bent branches and, last year, not all of the constellation of white twinkly lights were switching on.
That never really mattered that much, as we kept it in our living room, which didn’t look out onto the street, so we didn’t have to care what the Joneses thought. It was our kintsuge tree. Full of faults and probably a fire hazard, but still loved and valuable.
However, I knew that downsizing, as far as storage space is concerned, meant that its days were numbered.
In the bin it went, way back in the height of summer. I think it was hibernating, so had no clue of its fate.
Thus, for Christmas 2025, we will be getting our inaugural real tree.
It’ll be my first of all time, as when I was growing up, we also had a plastic tree, and never the real deal. It was a short thing, so my parents would truss it to a table for height and it was topped by a strange and ancient white-haired fairy with a golden wand.
My husband was the same, except his tree was silver and futuristic.
I guess the Seventies and the Eighties were the height of the artificial tree years. Anyway, those days are over.
We won’t ever be able to go back to faux now, as we don’t have enough storage space in the new gaff. Disposable single-use trees are the only way forward.
I am excited to try the real thing.
Everyone says they smell so good. Our old version smelled slightly of mildew, dust and failed expectations.
Apparently, there is a place on nearby Leith Links, where we might be able to do our tree shopping.
I’m not quite sure what you’re supposed to look for. Sturdy branches? Nice green shade? Or do you just go for the biggest, like when we go to the fishmonger for a haddock fillet?
Knowing me, I’d end up with the runt, because I felt sorry for it.
I worry that I will be horrified by the price. My budget is about £40, and that’ll probably only get me a wee Ronnie Corbett of a thing.
Before we acquire said tree, we should probably hunt for the decorations. They are in a big bag and a shoe box or two somewhere in the house.
Over the years, we have hoarded a ridiculous amount of baubles. Maybe about 50, along with tinsel and trimmings.
They all fit into my ethos that, at Christmas, good taste - along with budgeting and diets - should be paused.
I prefer to heap the tree with all my accumulated treasures, no matching required. I’ll worry about that if I ever become a Scotland’s Home of the Year contestant.
Apparently, this kind of chaos is the trend this year. They’re calling it maximalism and kitsch-mas. I’m an early adopter. It’s taken a while for the world to catch up with the higgeldy-piggeldy explosion-in-a-Strictly-costume-factory look.
I can’t wait to rediscover some of my favourites.
There is the beloved pink-eared white felt mouse on skis, a plastic Santa doing the splits, and the essential felt Brussels sprout with little black eyes and a hat. Ah, my old pals.
The snow globe bauble with a Christmas tree in it, and another one with a top-hatted penguin enclosed.
Not to forget the rhinestone white dove with a slightly bent real feather tail and the vast collection of glittery acorns. I have no clue where I acquired these bits of campery.
There’s the red plastic disc that says Noel, Noel on it, which always reminds me of my late dad, singing, “Noel, Noel, I’m no very well” every single Christmas.
Or, the fabric Sir Henry Raeburn Skating Minister decoration from the National Galleries of Scotland Shop. Bit fancy, that one. He always gets pride of place so he can salchow across the tree’s central reservation.
Then there are the garish plaster cast angels that my nieces once splurged with fleshy tones of pink paint.
In the slightly-more-tasteful pile, we have the red and white Nordic ones that my other half prefers. He also likes the mirrored disco-balls, the striped candy canes and the pine-cone-shaped metallics.
Also, there are two new surreal additions - courtesy of an impromptu shortcut through the John Lewis home department - of a shiny baguette in a bag and a tin of sardines.
Then, of course, the crackled silver glass star that will go on the top. It’s so heavy that it always bends the top branch.
We have everything, but no fairy.
Still, I am very excited to put all of these on my real life actual tree.
Perhaps I might have to aim for something slightly bigger than the runt.
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