Just down the road from me, are two houses lit up like Las Vegas. It's Margaret's daughter and her neighbours homes, and they have really gone to town.
I'm sure Santa knows our street now and where to land his sleigh. I have only got measly twinkling solar lights that I have all year round, but they have lights hanging from their spouting, all over their fence, on the lawn, in the bushes, in the trees, hanging out the window, over the driveway....
Mum is so bedazzled that she wants to go have a look. She thinks its much better than a church christmas drive-thru. I'm dismayed. She likes all this razzle dazzle even better than my own garden. Yet if I spend what amounts to a small fortune on mine, she ridicules it.
I find myself buying christmas ornaments, I have three red french hens and a sheep. I hang the sheep off the olive tree and the red hens off the peach tree. Thank you, Salvation Army.
I'm thinking, well, with my haybales I COULD make a manger scene. Just need some sheep, and a holy family in miniature. After all, Margaret's daughter has blow up Santa Claus on their lawn. I could have blow up sheep.
It rains slightly and I don't need to go water the garden. Instead I'm watching the National Trust DVD give tours their gardens, the first episode is a look at the famed Sissinghurt, and an expose of the creator, Vita Sackville-West's life. Did you know she was a lesbian and her husband was gay? No I did not. And they had three children? I don't know how that works...? But they loved each other and the garden.
And when I look at the garden I can't tell if its gay or not.
Anyway. I was thinking maybe it was an English thing. Have same-sex lovers, shock society, but leave behind a lovely garden. Or commit adultery, but still have your grand organic garden like Prince Charles. Or bump off your first wife, but still have your garden like Manderley in the novel Rebecca. It doesn't matter what sins you commit. You are redeemed in the garden.
