Posted in Family, Personal life

Let It Glow

A set of fluorescent Christmas lights
Image via Wikipedia

You don’t need me to tell you that the autumn colours have been fantastic this year.  Each day late October, early November, I kept thinking “I really must bring my camera with me next time I’m out”. Everywhere I went, breathtaking treescapes of gold, amber and bronze, dramatic as fireworks, rose out of rich, dark, newly-ploughed hills.  Then, overnight, they disappeared.   Strong winds stripped the trees bare, leaving muddy heaps of compost at their feet. It was as if a herbicidal maniac had been on the rampage.  Suddenly it was winter. The clocks had gone back.  And it was dark.

My sense of loss at this overnight tragedy made me less dismissive than I might otherwise have been when a day or two later I spotted my first Christmas tree of the year in the front window of a house near my mum’s.  Not only had the occupants put the tree up on the wrong side of Remembrance Day.  They’d also sprayed lavish drifts of fake snow on the windowpanes, as if egging on the winter to do its worst.  The shiny red stars and golden bells were a garish echo of the subtle russets and auburns of the departed autumn leaves, but boy, was it a cheery sight.

All at once I found myself looking forward to the rash of Christmas lights that would inevitably follow.  Nothing cheers me in winter as much as bright lights.  In a former life I must have been a Druid.  For the rest of the year, my usual mantra is “Put that light out!” (So maybe I was once an ARP warden?) My husband and daughter treat our household like a Christmas tree all year round, in terms of lighting, and for the rest of the year, I go round turning unnecessary lights off, muttering disapproval.  But when it comes to midwinter, I need a burst of light to stop me hibernating.

Certain local routes round here provide a real tonic at this season.  Last year, the white-lit Christmas trees, hung proudly like flags above the shops through the centre of Tetbury, were as cheering to me as any Olympic opening ceremony.  And who can resist the uplifting annual switching on of the Christmas lights?  Passing by the Arboretum, I’ll slow down to savour the “shop window” for the Enchanted Wood, which revitalises bare trees with coloured floodlights.  And just a little further down the Bath Road, there’s an ever-growing beacon that takes many by surprise.  The first time I passed that way after dark, I was convinced that I was about to come across a major conflagration on the road ahead.  I listened out for sirens, but there were none.  Rounding the bend, I discovered it was actually just Willesley’s cattery and kennels in all their electric glory.  Their furry residents must feel ever festive by Christmas Day.

In the past, I’ve shied away from too lavish a Christmas lighting scheme at my own home.  Think Ikea candle arches, and you’ll get the picture.  But this year, in the depths of this dark winter, I feel the need to throw caution to the winds.  That’s appropriate enough, as my electricity comes from the wind-powered Ecotricity in Stroud.  If their profits suddenly go up next quarter, you’ll know the reason why:  I’m planning to splash out this year on the festive lighting front.  Now, can anyone tell me the best place in Tetbury to buy an illuminated reindeer?

Wishing all Tetbury Advertiser readers a very merry Christmas, and a New Year filled with light.  Let it glow, let it glow, let it glow…

(This post was originally published in the Tetbury Advertiser)

Posted in Personal life

How Green Was My Pot Plant

BIG Aspidistra
Image by gadgetgirl2007 via Flickr

Keeping a pot plant on your desk is meant to make you more creative, happier and healthier.  But if your desk is in an old cottage with small windows and not much natural light, that’s easier said than done.

Especially if you’re not very good with pot plants.  I tried hard in my first flat, (light and airy with floor-to-ceiling windows), but I still couldn’t get much more than tradescantia to survive.  I once overheard my father saying to a visitor “And this is the area where Debbie tortures plants”.

Not long after that, I had the opportunity to learn from a master of the art of desktop gardening.  I went to work in an open-plan office where my desk adjoined that of Gloria.  Gloria loved houseplants so much that her desk resembled a small rainforest.  She certainly had green fingers: some of the plants were almost as big as she was.  Her massive money-plant seemed particularly auspicious, given that this was a sales office.  We were a happy and successful team until one day management asked her to cut back a bit on the undergrowth.  She took umbrage at this and felled the lot.  Things were never quite the same in our office again.

But now I don’t need green fingers because I’ve discovered some fabulously realistic plastic pot plants in Ikea.  They are pleasingly tidy, don’t need watering and have a restful, refreshing effect on any room.  I’ve just installed a pair of them on the windowsill above my desk.  Whenever I glance up from my work, they almost seem to smile back at me.  I’m so taken with them that I think I’ll invest in a few more.  One for the bathroom, two for the kitchen, then maybe I’ll move onto the bedroom.

But not yet.  This weekend my gardening efforts will have to be redirected out of doors.  I’ve a conservatory full of vegetable plants, thanks to the Gardening Club’s recent sale, and they all need to be transferred to the garden.  I wonder if Ikea makes convincing plastic vegetables?  They’d be so much easier to maintain.  But hang on, with the barbecue summer the weather forecasters have got lined up for us, they might melt.  And in any case, I’d never get them past the judges on Show Day.

This post was first published in the June 2010 issue of the Hawkesbury Parish News.