There's the funny red raffia garland I bought in an Oxfam shop years ago; it's breaking up in pieces now but not to worry, the pieces drape around in a versatile way, and there's the little artificial tree which we've had since the first Christmas we were together, which folds up, I'm afraid to say, with the baubles and other accumulated jewjaws still on it and goes into a carrier bag.
Then there are the cardboard cut-out angels I painted sometime since we've been here, I can't remember what the models for them were, something a bit Byzantine I think, and there are the walnut shell three ships, which I think I've photographed before but not this time,
and there are the two peg-doll angels my lovely sister made, because she's like that. Oh, and that odd little painted bell with a perplexed Father Christmas face on which Tom's daughter K, (Benj's and Emily's mum) sent last year. She quite often sends some Christmassy thing like that, it's rather nice, more lasting and healthier than chocolate; you get it out the following year and remember.
And there are the cards.
We light the candles in the wooden tree (which came from B the German doctor another year) once more, put on a cd of carols, drink the last half glass each of the 1997 Loupiac which the village gave to Tom on his last big birthday, and which we started with the pudding on Christmas Day, and pack Christmas away for another year.
Happy Twelfth Night, Fête des Rois, Epiphany. Onward towards the light now.
Though there's still a bit of Christmas cake left...