Chris put up our Christmas tree yesterday and, as he adorned it with ornaments collected over decades (some of them even going back to his childhood), he told me that he was ten years old when he was first given the important task of decorating the tree; and he has done it every year of his life since. We sometimes wonder if it is worth the effort now that the children are grown up, but we always relent.

While I was out today, Chris finished putting up the decorations. I noticed that the meerkats (free gifts from a particular insurance company), teddy bears (new presents), Andy (Mary’s monkey who came for a holiday, fell in love, and stayed) and Felicity (my treasured old white cat and object of Andy’s affections) have been moved to the top of the bookcase for an excellent view of the ancient fairy (one of our girls favourite Barbie doll, which has had pride of place each December for nearly twenty years!).

Oddly enough, the Irish busker we saw at Newton Abbot last Saturday also had an old white cat – it lives inside his drum, or maybe it was just the driest place to hang out. Perhaps his cat is called Fernando… “Can you hear the drums Fernando?” Now that song brings back memories.

Suddenly our house is warmed by the glow of colourful lights, tinsel and shiny baubles, and we are glad that we bothered, even though everyone is grown-up, because it feels like Christmas.