LUV – It’s Christmas time. Mistletoe and wine. Children stringing crappy paper chains between light fittings. What’s not to love about Christmas decorations?
Especially if, like me, your children are grown up. This means I’m no longer obliged to festoon my house in expanding foil streamers, paper bells, animatronic penguins and Garish Tinfoil Shit My Kids Made at School. I don’t have to bang a “Santa Please Stop Here” sign into my front garden, or drape the outside of the house in crappy lights that flash “FUCK YOU, NEIGHBOURS” on a tawdry loop. I’ve battled the herd of inflatable reindeer and won, and now Christmas is MINE.
Instead, I have instigated the Christmas Decoration Rules, which I enforce with a fervour that’s bordering on religious, although I’m not actually religious, obviously. Jesus, give me a break. It’s fucking Christmas.
So, The Rules. No decorations on the outside of the house, unless it’s a holly wreath on the door. No flashing or coloured lights. Absolutely nothing that requires batteries. When in B&Q, ask yourself “Would Mary Berry think this was vulgar?” (NB: The answer will always be “yes”).
As for the tree, step away from the tinsel, you savage. Wood or glass decorations? Beautiful. Red and gold baubles? Festive and lovely. Anything in blue or purple? Fuck off, you make me sick.
– Heidi Stephens (a copywriter, marketing consultant and Guardian TV liveblogger who regularly gets quite a lot more comments than Stuart Heritage)
HAT – Who could hate Christmas decorations? Boy howdy. You clearly haven’t looked into your soul and seen what your decorations say about you.
The Trad Tinsel’n’Garland Retronaut: You’re kicking it old school, blasting into Poundland with a tenner burning a hole in your outdoor onesie and emerging after 20 minutes with enough shiny foil to insulate the International Space Station. An explosion of Blu Tak later and your lounge is back in 1987 again! Fruit Pastilles come in boxes! Cabbage Patch dolls abound! Daddy might still come home yet! Don’t cry!
The Alpine Wonderland Classy Bastard: All right, Richie Rich! We see your artful arrangements of frosted pine cones, your imported vintage glass baubles, your bloody wicker reindeer. We get it, you’ve got a Waitrose card and you’ve probably pre-ordered a goose. But know this: those tinsel-denying beads wrapped round your 10ft spruce have certain connotations even Mumsnet would blush at and we’re all thinking them while you offer us another Guylian.
The Pinterest Pissant: Have you fashioned a tree facsimile out of paint pots or distressed Tolstoy novels or naked Barbies? Have you eschewed wrapping it in fairy lights in favour of bundling them into a Kilner jar? Have you instead used a load of glittery letters on string which spell out a subversive word? Did you do it all while listening to the Sufjan Stevens Christmas album? Are you happy? You are, aren’t you? But don’t you see? That’s the worst part.
Bare walls and Grinch-like misery, then? Thought so.
– Julia Blyth