A peculiar season

Well, the Christmas tree is up, after much faffing. I am so not in the mood for it this year, and last night, when I surveyed the shiny collection of kitten toys waiting to crash and smash under the weight of feline hysteria and cover the floor with shards of glass and perspex, I felt like it even less.

Last year it was a delight, but then I had no sooner put it up than it was time for me to launch myself down south. This year, I am actually going to be at home to enjoy it, and I just couldn't bear the sight of the thing. So I swept off all baubles and trinketure (yes, it's a new word) and instead covered the tree with our masks from Venice and roleplay. Rose Boy sits at the top with a star above him, and his white rose plus music scroll beneath him, the Green Man turned Harlequin Prince. The rest are all there too, in various poses and moods. The tree undoubtedly looks happier, though when I switch the lights on, I half expect a voice to whisper 'Salieriiiii' from beneath the boughs. That or 'Have you seen the Yellow Sign?'