This is about as exciting as it gets in the house now that the Christmas decs are packed away in the loft. The only remains are the chocolates, and the falling snow outside.
What is now a pouffe, was a glistening Christmas tree, and so impressed was I by its beauty, I even wrote a drunken ode to the thing.
The house is now bare, and the light has gone.
God, I hate January.
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