The first Christmas...

...in England for me, that is. In an hour, more or less. I spent my first Christmas away from home last year, but never in England. Strange, as I have been living in this country for more than ten years, on and off. We will celebrate it tomorrow, as proper Englishmen, but I will of course solely miss the tradition of my own country: the celebrations starting at midnight with Minuit Chrétiens (O Holy Night, which is ironic to appreciate as an atheist, but I always suspected it was a republican song disguised as a Christian one), the heavy food eaten very early in the morning, the unwrapping of the presents, the Nativity Scene (another one which one may find strange that I miss, but our Nativity Scene in Chicoutimi is beautiful and artistic and besides I always thought that it was filled with Pagan symbolism), waking up children at midnight... Okay, there are no children to wake up yet/anymore, but still. I guess I am still deeply a cultural Catholic and I live Christmas as such, with the same traditions and icons I identify myself to. Old habits die hard, especially these ones. I want to stay up until Midnight, like I used to not so long ago, to be conscious when Christmas starts.

Anyway, I have decided to put here the picture of the Christmas tree we made back in 2008. It is blurry, but in a way it illustrates my state of mind.