In a moment of rash romanticism, Jenny agreed that we could have A Real Tree this year, and after passing over a frighteningly large wedge of folding money we found ourselves in possession of a very handsome specimen which we immediately christened Tommy Tree.

We scuttered off to B&Q to buy decorations and a stand, only to find that they had run out of stands two weeks ago (WTF?) and that the few decorations left were ripped open and trodden underfoot in a way reminiscent of the scenes of devastation in 28 Days Later.

Undaunted, we ferreted out a few whole specimens with which to dress Tommy, and bought the raw materials with which to fashion our own stand.

On returning to the flat, we set about hacking Tom's lower branches off with a bread knife (you can't buy class, as Mr B says) and attempting to strap shelf brackets to his nether regions using tree ties. We both got a little fractious during this escapade, however, and I decided we should call it a night.

We got up (comparatively) early this morning and wandered purposefully into Greenwich (apparently properly pronounced 'Grinnidj' rather then 'Grenitch') where we managed to get the very smart green number shown in the bottom-most picture.

So Tom is now fully dressed and in pride of place in our living room. Jenny is currently wrapping presents to rest in an exciting fashion at his feet. Ho ho ho!