In the crisp December air of Windsor Great Park, where ancient oaks stand sentinel and the Long Walk stretches like a ribbon toward the castle’s distant spires, the annual tradition of royal Christmas tree shopping took on an entirely different hue on December 7, 2025. What locals had come to expect as a polite, perfectly choreographed photo-op—the Prince and Princess of Wales gliding through the rows of Nordmann firs with their three impeccably behaved children—morphed into something far more chaotic, joyful, and gloriously unscripted. And Windsor is still talking about it.
The day began innocently enough. At 10:30 a.m., two black Range Rovers with tinted windows rolled up to the Windsor Great Park Christmas Tree Farm, a 200-acre working forest that has supplied the royal households for decades. Out stepped William and Catherine—casual in Barbour jackets and wellies, Catherine’s hair in a loose ponytail, William carrying a reusable coffee cup—followed by Prince George (12), Princess Charlotte (10), and Prince Louis (7). The plan, according to palace briefings, was simple: pick a 20-foot tree for the castle’s Crimson Drawing Room, a smaller one for Adelaide Cottage, take a few approved photos, and depart within 45 minutes. Security was discreet, the press pen cordoned 50 yards away, and the farm’s owner, Richard Bushnell, had pre-selected six “royal-grade” trees for inspection.
Then Louis happened.
The youngest Wales prince—known for his unfiltered enthusiasm and a penchant for turning solemn occasions into spontaneous comedy—spotted a tree that no one had flagged: a slightly lopsided, 18-foot Norway spruce leaning like it had one too many eggnogs. Its branches were uneven, its top bent at a jaunty angle, and it was covered in natural pinecones that looked like festive ornaments placed by mischievous elves. Louis tugged William’s sleeve and declared, loud enough for half the park to hear, “Daddy, THAT one! It’s wonky and brilliant!” Charlotte immediately agreed—“It’s got character!”—while George, trying to play the responsible big brother, pointed out the pre-selected perfect specimens. Catherine, ever the diplomat, laughed and said, “Well, the wonky ones need love too.”
What followed was pure, unfiltered Wales family chaos—and the most talked-about royal moment of the holiday season.
Louis bolted toward the crooked tree, arms outstretched like he was greeting an old friend. Charlotte sprinted after him, shouting, “I claim the fairy lights job!” George, abandoning dignity, joined the charge with a whoop of “Wait for me!” William and Catherine exchanged a look—half exasperation, half delight—and gave chase. Within seconds, the entire family was circling the tree like it was the best thing they’d ever seen. Louis attempted to hug the trunk (it was wider than he was tall), Charlotte started climbing the lower branches “to test sturdiness,” and George began directing an impromptu photoshoot with his iPhone, barking orders like a miniature David Bailey: “Mum, tilt left—perfect!”
The pre-selected trees? Forgotten. The schedule? Obliterated. The security team? Briefly panicked, then quietly amused.
Richard Bushnell, the farm owner, later told the Windsor & Eton Express: “I’ve been supplying the royals for twenty years. They always choose the symmetrical ones. This year? They picked the drunk-looking tree because the kids fell in love with it. Prince Louis actually said, ‘It’s like Uncle Harry—looks a bit wild but has a good heart.’ I nearly dropped my chainsaw.”
The moment the family unanimously declared the wonky spruce “the one,” the farm staff sprang into action—netting the tree, loading it onto the royal lorry, and tying it with the traditional red ribbon that signals it’s bound for the castle. But the surprises kept coming. Catherine, spotting a small potted pine labeled “Charlie Brown tree—£15,” insisted on buying it for the children’s playroom: “Every wonky tree deserves a home.” William paid with Apple Pay on his phone while juggling Louis on his hip, and Charlotte negotiated an extra bag of pinecones “for crafts.” George, meanwhile, convinced the farm’s resident Shetland pony, Nutmeg, to pose for a selfie with the crooked tree in the background—captioned later on the official Prince and Princess of Wales Instagram (posted by a palace aide): “Sometimes the best trees are the ones that don’t stand straight. #WindsorChristmas2025”
The photos that leaked from staff phones and local shoppers are pure gold: Louis mid-tree-hug, Charlotte halfway up a branch like a festive koala, George directing traffic with a pine needle in his mouth, William laughing so hard he’s doubled over, and Catherine—hair escaping her ponytail, cheeks flushed—looking utterly, radiantly happy. One image, taken by a teenage bystander and shared 1.2 million times on TikTok within hours, shows the entire family lying on the ground underneath the chosen tree, staring up through its branches at the sky—Louis pointing at a cloud shaped like a crown, Charlotte giggling uncontrollably.
Within an hour, #WonkyWalesTree was trending worldwide. Local WhatsApp groups exploded: “Did you SEE the Wales kids? They were feral—in the best way!” A farm worker’s video of Louis declaring, “It’s the people’s tree now!” has 28 million views and counting. The official palace account leaned into the chaos, posting a carousel that evening: the family with their crooked conquest, captioned, “Sometimes perfect isn’t the point. Thank you, Windsor Great Park, for the most magical (and slightly wonky) tree yet. 🌲❤️.”
By evening, the tree—nicknamed “Sir Leans-a-Lot” by palace staff—was installed in Windsor Castle’s Crimson Drawing Room, its bent top adorned with a crystal star tilted at the exact same jaunty angle. The smaller “Charlie Brown” tree took pride of place in the children’s playroom at Adelaide Cottage, decorated entirely with pinecones, paper crowns, and drawings from local schoolchildren who’d sent get-well cards to Catherine during her cancer treatment.
For a family that has endured a bruising year—Catherine’s cancer diagnosis in January 2025, nine weeks of preventive chemotherapy, William’s solo Earthshot duties, and the quiet strain of a monarchy under scrutiny—this unscripted, joy-drenched detour felt like oxygen. Locals who witnessed it describe it as “the most normal they’ve ever seemed”—five people picking a Christmas tree, arguing good-naturedly about tinsel, and choosing love over perfection.
As one Windsor resident posted on the local Facebook group (a comment liked 12,000 times): “They didn’t pick the posh tree. They picked the one with soul. That’s our future King and Queen right there—teaching their kids that wonky is wonderful.”
And somewhere in the castle that night, under a crooked tree that leans like it’s dancing, three royal children fell asleep believing that Christmas magic isn’t about flawless branches.
It’s about the ones that make you laugh when you hug them.
