Twelfth night.

The festive season is over once again and Edinburgh is strewn with naked trees waiting to meet their maker. My tree is a little plastic chap we found sitting atop the ladder in our kitchen cupboard so no such fate for him, he'll just get stowed away to gather dust for 11 months, glamourous.

That said, he's still sitting shedding glitter over my kitchen floor from the fairly grim silver decorations which were found in an Asda bag also in said kitchen cupboard. If the myths are correct, I'm currently subjecting myself to a hefty dose of bad luck and/or some tree-spirit tomfoolery.