Traditionally, I've gone for tasteful festive decorations. You know the sort of thing. Red and gold baubles on a real tree; a small selection of subtlely fragranced candles; an understated holly and mistletoe wreath (possibly with a notion of glitter). You'd never see any plastic tat in my house. As for Christmas inflatables, I'd rather slum it in Tesco in my pyjamas (it only happened once) than put a giant gormless Santa on the roof. I have to tell you - things have changed. My friend Mrs Taggart has finally worn me down with her feckless Liverpudlian ways. This is a woman who can never have enough Christmas tinsel, particularly if it's pink and shaped like a six foot Christmas tree. More is always more in her chaotic world. "Loosen up." she said. "You're house looks like a fracking ad for Country Living." I took the point. As I write, I 'm experiencing a warm, seasonal glow as I enjoy the flashing lights of the sleigh on the front lawn, and the dancing Santa on the table is surprisingly entertaining. I never could do moderation. Someone get me more sherry.
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