Most certainly everything that glitters is not gold. How
well I have learnt that lesson over the years. But like the magpie that stole
the Christmas tinsel I have to say that I’m attracted to the shine of the cheap
and tawdry. Call me a fool if you wish, but I’m a fool looking for gold where
no gold could ever exist.
The Christmas tinsel always held a fascination for me. Of
course the tinsel back then was not the lush and extravagant stuff it is today.
I have memories of silver tinsel so sharp it could slice your finger and other
stuff that seemed to fall apart as soon as you picked it up leaving behind only
a silver string and hundreds of flutters of tinfoil on the lino.
Of course this was the sixties and there wasn’t much shine
in the world. Trees would be draped in as much tinsel as could be afforded as
using the tree lights could be dangerous. The bulbs were huge and became very
hot after a while. They always reminded me of multi-coloured pointed gnomes
hats. Mind you, some of the tinsel we used was probably from the 50’s when
tinsel was made from lead foil which probably partly explains my difficulties
thinking sensibly.
Anyway, that Christmas magpie.
One Christmas Eve I ‘borrowed’ a piece of tinsel from the
tree and took it out to the garden to play at being a shooting star. It was a
sunny day and the light caught the tinsel as I flew up and down the back garden
path making whooshing noises and ducking and diving. One minute the tinsel was
streaming above my head like a meteorite’s tail behind me and the next, with a
yank, it was gone. I looked up to see my precious tinsel streamer disappearing
into a tree held tightly in the beak of a magpie.
I watched as the bird examined its treasure whilst sitting
on a branch. Then it picked it up in its beak once more and off it flew like a
black and white comet with it’s gleaming, glittering, silver tail flowing out
behind it.
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