If you all lived closer, I'd invite you round for Christmas Pudding (which I seem to be having every other night at the moment) and you could
My fella's mother bought us this Santa a few years ago. Now we have a lot in common. We both love old movies, particularly the ones where Bette Davis gets to play a bitch, we both like Michael Bubbley. We both like my fella. But I think we part company at this Santa. At least he's not one of those electronic ones that does a little dance. Actually, everyone else who's visited the house has commented on how "nice" the Santa is. Are they being sarcastic? Or do I just have the politest visitors ever? Or do they actually mean it? I must have Asperger's because I can never tell. Anyway, after a couple of years, I get a kind of ironic enjoyment out of him. If you ever need to understand kitsch, just look on my mantlepiece from December 1st onwards. Incidentally, we have a working fire now - so it's this Santa who'd better be a good boy this Christmas - otherwise there's going to be a horrible smell of burning plastic and man-made fibre sometime soon...
When I was child, I thought that having a white plastic Christmas tree was the height of good taste. All the slightly posh families on our council estate had one. The ones whose kids had violin lessons and were always coming round asking you to "sponsor" them on some ludicrous 20 mile walk for charity. The ones whose dads had a car and could pick them up from school so they wouldn't get beaten up on the way home. And they all went on holidays abroad for 2 weeks (rather than 7 days in Blackpool or Great Yarmouth like us). Anyway, magically I turned all of that simmering class-resentment into brutal ambition and now look who's got a white fucking Christmas tree. Yes me. I've arrived! I'm finally nouveau! Except, I think I took the wrong message away from that particular part of my childhood, don't you think? Because acually, white Christmas trees are awful! Except I don't care. It's staying.
Several years ago I decided to make my own Christmas tree as a "commentary" on "modern society". I was in my 20s - I was still idealistic. So I got some twigs and sprayed them black. I was going to cut out pictures of toys from a Gratton catalogue and use them as decorations (to say something about the commericalism of Christmas). I was also going to cut out pictures of anorexic super-models to represent the angels (it would also be a cutting satire on eating disorders). Anway, my fella (who is a little bit older and more sensible) put his foot down for some reason and forbade it. So we had a compromise and I made my own decorations based on the film "stars" that I was into at the time. And although they look inappropriate on the white plastic Christmas tree, and my fella shakes his head sadly, they still go up year after year. I give you, Jason Patric (remember him - this was when Speed 2 was out), Yootha Joyce and Beryl Reid from the Killing of Sister George. I'm sure there's still some sort of "commentary" in there somewhere.