On a cold and wintery day I ventured forth into the wilderness…well, the Chilterns, and on my photographic travels came across a man and his dog admiring a fine 40ft fir tree. We nodded and exchanged good-mornings, as is the country walkers code to do so, and then he pointed his walking stick up toward the tree, and announced, “that’s a real Christmas tree that is, and it only blossoms every 30 years. John, the landlord of the pub where it stands has been here for 24 years and its never blossomed. You can see the cones there. You should take a picture.” And so I did. And I found a large cone on the ground, for our, more modestly sized Christmas tree. The old man also told me to take a picture of the landlord’s prize hens that were strutting about in front of me, but that’s another story.