There were intense festivities last night. I had to be at home as I was on call so it seemed a good time to Christmasify the flat. I wrestled the tree into its stand (of which more later) and festooned it until it was groaning under the weight of baubles, hung cards, decorated the table, hung stockings etc. It was knackering! No-one ever tells you that bit. It’s not the glow of Christmas spirit that make people look rosy-cheeked, it’s the hard work!
Then I wrapped presents for one of my best friend’s and her son as I’m seeing her tonight and painted my nails sparkly red. Oh yes, the air in East London was redolent with Christmas spirit. P was impressed when he came home to the fragrance of Christmas tree and the soft glow of the lights glinting off the baubles. And a dishevelled wife slumped on the sofa. But hey, what I lacked in personal grooming at that point, I made up for with festive nails. (Why do boys never notice these things?)
But that was before. Before I looked like I’d caught some nasty skin complaint. It turns out that too much festive spirit can be bad for you. Or at least, that some trees fight back. Mine clearly hates me. I’ve had an allergic reaction to the sap and have attractive and stinging rash on my wrists and forearms. Because nothing says Christmas like a nasty red rash. Still, at least it matches my nails.