Yer nicked - twice.

You may have heard of twice baked soufflés or twice fried chips, well, this blip is about my twice nicked tree.

The image is of one of the stunning Victorian glass long drops that adorn my tree each year, bought many moons ago at an antique market for a few pence each. Just as in their previous life, when part of a chandelier, they reflect and magnify the light, creating a magical display.

Meanwhile back at the tree, the Lone Ranger, oh no, that's another story.

Recently, whilst walking the dog, we - the dog and I - came across a cut Christmas tree, hidden behind a hedge, next to the gateway along the lane. It had on one of those net wrappers, so was not exactly growing there.

"Hmm" thinks the dog.

"Aha!" thinks I, "We'll 'ave that."

So in the depths of the dark, dark, night I drove up the lane, shoved the tree in the car and, with the hatch back left open and the top of the tree sticking out, I sped home.

On closer inspection, when I took the netting off the next day, I have to admit it is a shabby excuse for a tree, being tall and narrow with too many branches and virtually no needles. But you know what they say about gift horses? Well, as the shoe fits, just perfectly - in the recess in the hall, it has stayed. To my eyes it looks stunning, and the dog quite likes it too.

Here's the mystery unravelled:
Pikeys nick trees, and secrete them for later collection.
Apparently, according to Mellors, there were others dotted along the hedge by the lane. The poor locals of the parish, seize an opportunity and have free, albeit naff, trees in their homes this Christmas.

Oh, that it were whisky.

I'll be in the clear until St. Nick turns up.