The last time we had a Christmas Tree, the dogs ate the glass decorations and Lucy our youngest spaniel ran off with the fairy lights; she had the flex in her jaws and the lights streamed off the tree behind her, a bit like a string of illuminated butcher’s sausages. While she was distracting us, Bamber came in, and before we could stop him he’d shinned to the top, grabbed a length of tinsel and abseiled down like Tarzan. The whole tree swayed and almost fell, but not before Pink had had a go. She didn’t want Bamber to have all the fun, so she ran up after him, kicked the fairy down and watched while the dogs grabbed her and worried her half to death. The only animal who wasn’t impressed by all the fancy lights and the trimmings was Alleycat, but even Alleycat couldn’t stop the others behaving badly and so now we don’t have a tree at all. This makes Christmas very boring for Pink, because she doesn’t go out of doors much in the winter and has to amuse herself by eating too much and making herself sick and then eating some more, like the old Roman kings at the banquets. Her main exercise at the moment is yawning strenuously.