Maybe we should have watched The Miracle on 34th Street or listened to Christmas carols as we decorated our tree last night. Instead, we had an L Word feast, and as Mama B and Mama T discussed their theories of attachment parenting, I started to wonder why we were so attached to the loo-roll fairy that was about to make her umpteenth appearance on our tree, despite having lost everything that made her anything but ... um ... a loo roll. Did I really want to hang loo rolls on my tree?
So I put my foot down, sent everyone back to the sofa, and declared the tree a tasteful zone (my taste):
laden with carefully chosen, interesting objects:
and a certain colour co ordination:
And just as I stood back waiting for the praise, I found myself in the middle of a revolution. Apparently we like loo rolls in the Salway household, and not only have I spoilt the tree, I've spoilt Christmas. For Ever.
Sadly although I did get a secret thrill from my brief dictatorship, I have to agree. So I'll have a couple of days of (my) taste, before giving in and letting our much-loved clashing Christmas friends out of the black bin-bag they're currently twitching in. No Grinch me. As if I had a choice. Because, look, a few favourites have already crept out and chanced their arm in the current pink and silver winter wonderland of the Salway sitting room:
It seems, despite our TV viewing, we are not as grown up as we think. Or at least not at Christmas.