This was going to be a short and sweet blog, just before Christmas. It went something like this:
All is calm in The Enchanted Village and - at last - bright.
The Christmas trees have finally gone up above the houses in the square. The lights are on and everyone’s at home.
It may well stay that way if any more snow comes our way. Cut off from everyone, except ourselves.
A very merry Christmas to you, wherever you are.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
...However, I get home in the dark from a hard day's work. The tree above the Grigg hovel is flashing like something from New York's Times Square.
'We've had complaints,' says my neighbour Mrs Bancroft, the owner of a beautifully arranged Christmas tree on the corner of her house. The tree is a wonderful shape and the lights are perfect. Just like her.
As I stand gawping in the square, Mr Grigg pulls up from five hours of shopping in my kind of town and a swift pint in the only free house for miles around.
'What's wrong with the bloody tree?' he says, like it's my fault. 'It's bloody flashing.'
I sit in the bedroom window as he tries to sort out the lights at the socket near the floor.
'Sequence, chasing, glow, completely still,' he yells at me, but looking at the plug.
'They're completely out, honestly,' I say. I look out the window wishing I were somewhere warm and light. 'There's nothing happening, nothing.'
He gets up to look and the lights come back on again. He scoffs, thinking I'm exaggerating. (Who, me?) We try again and the same thing happens. Every time he looks away the lights go off. Every time he looks they behave. The next time he keeps an eye on the lights and the other eye on the socket. The lights fail.
'You're right,' he says. He sounds surprised.
Well thank you so much for that vote of confidence Mr G.
We struggle to adjust the lights to static but they're having none of it.
Our tree is a beacon of activity in an otherwise static and sedate square. The Grigg household flashes like billio while all around us all the other lights are keeping their heads. We seem to be losing ours. But we're all right. We just close the curtains. What the eye doesn't see...
From the Bancroft household across the road, our lights perform a cabaret. Mrs B and the family close the curtains before putting on the eye shades.
This one could run and run. All over the festive period.
That's really about it.
Love and bling and ting.
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