Burn Notice

I have traditions. Superstitions, stupid ideas - look, let's not get bogged down in the detail, okay? So traditions...here's one that you may or may not share:

I cannot allow the star to go on top of the Christmas tree until everything else is on. Bad luck see? And when the whole thing comes down, the star remains till not one but of tinsel is left.

When we bought this house it had a name. This house that I mainly hated, this house that signified middle age, this house that officially took me out of my city life, away from most of the things and people I held dear. This house that was in a small town, and the suburbs of a small town. This house that took 8 months of stress and pressure to buy.

This house was named Bramblebank.

Consider the name plaque the 'star' on the Christmas tree. After so much work, effort, blood, sweat and tears (yes, seriously) we are as done making this house our own as we can be for now.

It was time to take down the star.

Bramblebank, no more. The Family Dog live here now.