his Christmas, most of my family were with their in-laws, so it was just Mary and me here. My notorious Scrooge-like frugality kicked in and I decided not to buy a Christmas tree, at vast expense, and then after its 12 nights of glory, consign it to the bonfire. Instead, I pruned some branches from a fir tree in the wood above the house, tied them together to form a somewhat eccentrically shaped tree on which I hung lights and baubles. Our 61-year-old angel, made by a babysitter from scraps of my wedding dress, with tinfoil wings, perched precariously on top. The effect was,