I walked along North Road this morning, pushing myself too fast to get the walk done and be home in time for breakfast. The Christmas tree is still there. It’s inside not out, in a ground floor room of one of the tall terrace houses as the top of not Loveden Road by the one parallel to it, the one that leads down to the little SPAR. There is one what looks like an aquarium in the window, all lit up. And in the corner there is a huge Christmas Tree. It still looks fresh as a daisy, even though it is now May. It is real or faux? And what’s more all the decorations are still up and the lights on. I get it. I do. It’s a child-like thing to wish to prolong the joy of it, that sparkly nonsense of it and to have it there to stare at from your bed (the room is clearly owned by a student, who I can also just about see working away on their computer). And why not? There is misery enough.
