The Christmas Lighthouse

Door number 7 on the advent calendar opened effortlessly this morning. A small tug of the sticky tape applied by the pilferer of its former confectionery contents was all that was required to relinquish its union with the calendar façade.

The shape of the plastic insert behind the door, where the candy should have been housed, hints todays missing chocolate piece was a reindeer. Either that or a dog wearing a crown, or maybe a cat clad in a reindeer fancy dress outfit……. Or even a cat adorning a dog wearing a crown fancy dress outfit.

On quiet reflection, as I think the last three possibilities aren’t very festive, I’m going to go with the ‘its a reindeer’ theory. We’ll never know for definite, though, thanks to our light fingered chocolate plunderer.

To try elevate the houses Christmas cheer levels from 0.5 to 0.75 on the Richter Scale, my wife and I wore our Christmas sweaters yesterday and partook in our perennial watch of ‘White Christmas’.

Sat there in our seasonal jumpers watching a classic Christmas movie, a warm glow filled our modestly sized living room. However, this was no glow of mental contentment generated by  the feel good old movie; moreover the physical affects from the flames of a 6ft advent candle on the fire hearth.

Allegedly created from the ear wax of Santa’s elves, this monster candle was a Christmas gift from an elderly aunt last year.

It was typical of her as she always goes for over the top presents. She bought us a soap on a rope the size of a wrecking ball 10 years ago and we still have over half of it left. An absolute monster soap, I’ve lost count of the times it’s knocked the shower guard from the wall.

It is a really awkward experience bathing with this thing as it cuts out a lot of your space, and weighs a substantial amount making it deeply uncomfortable to balance on your knees. Some say “Why use it?”, to which I respond that my wife feels it would be ungrateful not to.

Anyway, back to her aunt’s giant candle present from last year.

God only knows how Mr Claus got it into our living room last Christmas Eve. I suspect he didn’t come down the chimney with it. He wouldn’t have been able to due to its sheer size……. Plus we haven’t got a chimney!

I suspect he had to take out the front bay windows to gain access for the waxwork brute.

I’d wager that there is less wax in the BFG model at Madame Tussauds than there is on this candle. Yesterday, I had to light it stood on a set of step ladders. During this time, I went through nearly a full box of matches attempting to ignite the wick whose girth is so vast you could use it to winch a ships anchor.

The heat it produces when ignited is quite remarkable. I’m currently debating whether I should have a chimney built to help reduce its affect, or just extinguish the flame to cool the room down a tad.

The candle’s light is so bright we’ve been attracting the attention of oil tankers from North Sea shipping lanes, mistaking this wax monolith for a lighthouse!…… And Leeds is about 40 miles from the coast!

Its fragrance isn’t the most festive either. As I sit here in sun glasses looking at the brute, wearing factor 30 sun cream, I’m not being overwhelmed with the scent of cinnamon, pine or robin sweat . It’s more an ambience of creosote and burning rubber taking sensory prominence in this corner of chez Strachan.

I know I’ll have to put out the flame at some point, however, blowing this bloody mammoth thing out wont be one of my feasible options. I’d need to be able to exhale from my lungs with the power of a category 2 hurricane to achieve that goal. I’ll need to research online for suitable solutions, I’d proffer.  

Right I’m off for a shower to get away from the god forsaken heat in this room…. Time to spend some time with the soapy wrecking ball upstairs.

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