Christmas Gardening

Starting December 1st, at the very latest, everywhere you go everything is red and green. Or green and red. It’s not very original, but when it comes to traditions, I say to hell with originality! And so our front door gets decorated one more time in red and green despite being blue. Our garden shares this point of view, I think. There is no other explanation why all of a sudden everywhere in our garden everything is red and green. Or green and red. Isn’t it lovely?

The Prince of Kent.


There was this brooch, worn by Princess Michael of Kent, showing, well, something all too obviously perceivable as an object of racism, the world was outraged, I, however, grinned, maliciously, not being totally smitten by the woman Harry chose to marry like the rest of the world, for different reasons like Her Royal Highness though, I just would like to have somebody of royal blood marry into any of the royal families of Europe, just for a change, at least serene, the next generation of kings and queens are all married to girls and boys from the middle class, lower or upper, who cares, definitely all next door, not next palace, all these Kates and Daniels and Mette-Marits may all be nice and sweet and loveable, but if I were a subject to some family chosen by the grace of God, to a family allegedly superior to me, I‘d prefer them to take their task seriously and marry appropriately within Europe’s courts (even Princess Caroline managed to in her third attempt, and although she was no pure breed either, her mother was at least the finest Hollywood royalty), or resign and de-HRH themselves, as I don‘t feel in any way inferior to any of their current in-laws. So, in order to quote Princess Michael of Kent, still grinning maliciously, I decorated the Christmas tree with a man I made in school in Luxembourg at the age of eight, just for a politically ever so incorrect laugh.



Some people have an inner child that they allow to, well, come out every once in a while and play, just to make sure they stay human, these guys are to be congratulated, for their wisdom, humanity and charm, I, however, whose inner child has never been locked up, whose emotional intelligence might be the one of Methuselah but whose behaviour is rather Calvinistic, and I’m referring to Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes here, not to that repressed guy from Geneva, what am I to do? You cannot let out what’s already out, can you? So I had to come up with an alternative: I let my inner interior designer out, and I pamper him well. I frolic through stores, buy bowls, vases and pitchers from Royal Copenhagen or Lalique, overpriced flowers from fancy stores, those way cheaper tulips from your grocer won’t do sometimes, fruit and cookies and other stuff that just has to be remotely decorative to give me a thrill and there I go, a new arrangement on my Regency table, I’m happy as a child, sorry, as an interior designer and ready to cope with life, business and deadlines.