Christmas isn’t truly Christmas in the noisy café household unless most of the carpets are covered in a fine layer of glitter which generally takes relentless hoovering into mid February to remove.
I’m unashamedly In Love with Christmas and probably for all the wrong reasons, given that I am not religious. It’s a strange set of values I hold for the festive season; bizarrely, I enjoy listening to carols and hymns, will try and go to the Christmas service by candle light at our nearest cathedral and will probably watch the service from Westminster Abbey on the telly on Christmas morning. I guess I enjoy the familiar sights and sounds of these things; maybe it’s a comforting throwback to childhood or something or another.
Anyway, around about now, I’m stifling squeals of delights as I see the shops filling up with shiny, sparkly things. Not for Christmas presents you understand (although I have been insanely organised with my shopping so far, it feels uncharacteristically grown-up). No, it’s all about the decorations. Somehow, large garden centres have become a new obsession. It’s almost as though I become entranced when I see a sign for one and I automatically steer my car in through the gates, like a festive Stepford Wife. I can’t help it. For I know that when I get inside, I couldn’t care less about the plants but the sections of baubles, tinsel, lights and sparkly fake twigs will make me start cavorting around the shelves like a middle aged, plump gazelle. See, I’m so obsessed by it, I immediately saw that there were elves hidden in the shelves in that last sentence.
I do like to rustle up a few homemade decorations however. And while I’m frolicking in front of the felt woodland creature Christmas tree decorations, I will with one hand be reaching for the price tag, and with the other, I will be photographing it to refer to later when I have a go at making my own.
So around about now, the floors and surfaces become slowly covered in an assortment of craft materials. It’s unbelievably messy. And because it’s a creative process which lasts pretty much up until Christmas eve, it just sort of sits there until I finish. My husband, when he gets home from work, opens the door and takes a deep breath as he plots his journey through the house, rather like navigating his way across moving laser beams.
My daughter, who every year of her childhood was forced to sit with me and make all manner of decorations (me, forever squealing and excitable, she with annually diminishing exuberance) got to the stage one year where upon being told it was ‘time to make things!’ replied with a weary sigh ‘Oh God, can’t we just go and buy them like normal people?’.
I do buy some things. Some things are just too beautiful to resist. But only if I’m absolutely certain it’s beyond my creative capabilities to recreate.
Happy Christmas Crafting!
Here’s one I made earlier……..