Christmas Decorations, Christmas at Fingertips continued

Posted by dodo

The fall-out in Christmas decorations is also appalling. Every year, since my children grew beyond the smash-and- grab stage, my husband, who has some sort of death wish for the decorations, has introduced a new kitten, who does the job far more thoroughly. The minute you hang the first silver bauble on the tree marks the opening of the volley-ball season, and by evening everything is being batted all over the floor and smashed to bits.

This year I toyed with the idea of buying ’shatterproof balls made in Finland’, but they were so ugly that I settled for the gold angels and silver donkeys; my daughter said they were `absolutely gross’, which gave me a blissful excuse to sulk and beat a retreat to the drawing-room fire with a large vodka, leaving decorating the tree to everyone else.

As I hadn’t bought a Woolworth’s Christmas tree stand in olive-green plastic ‘with water contained to retard needle drop’, they had to make do with a bucket wrapped in foil. This year’s tree was too big for its bucket, and there was bitter dissension between my husband and the children on the merits of holding it down with earth or logs. Earth won, but only after the tree had fallen over three times, smashed most of the gold angels, and was finally secured by rope. As usual my son waited until my daughter had decorated the tree to take everything down and start again. Candles which we used to have in the old days were so much prettier. Sadly now, like fireworks, they are regarded as dangerous and generally replaced by hideous fairy lights in primary colours in the shape of lanterns, icicles or flowers. Remember whether your set needs push-in or screw-in bulbs and get plenty of spares.

If you have young babies crawling around, do watch out for scissors and wires; and, if you want to add glitter to branches, use non-toxic paint. Ensure, too, that the open fire has a really secure fireguard.

Last year, according to The Observer, white lights only were de rigueur on the Christmas tree. When we arrived in Gloucestershire, I was firmly informed that it was fearfully common to decorate your tree with any colour other than blue. People were even white-washing their entire tree, and hanging only blue balls on it.

The tree in Trafalgar Square, sent by the Norwegians every year in gratitude for English support in the war, is lit a week before Christmas. Never arrange to meet anyone underneath it — you’ll find 10,000 other people have had the same idea.

Never go and look at the lights in Regent Street either. My husband’s aunt was shopping there when suddenly an eight- foot aluminium snowflake clanged to the ground and only just missed slicing her in half.

In Stroud last year we had bent choir boys, which was better than the year the plastic angels in Regent Street filled up with so much rain that they all looked pregnant. The only way to drain them was potting them with rifles — a shot-gun termination.

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