I think I have established both the baseline and limit of Yuletide decorations for this house. It took only two hours of my ever-shortening life, no furniture was displaced, and no power cords are involved.

Outside Home Depot the other day, I saw bunches of white pine branch tips tagged at a couple of bucks. The thing I like best about a Christmas tree is the scent, so I bought a bunch. At home, I arranged them in a sort of wreath-cum-bird’s-nest on the curving arms of the little chandelier over the dining table, and finished it off with about a dozen hanging baubles. When I had removed all evidence of effort, including the shattered remains of the bauble that I dropped on the basement stairs, it looked both nostalgic and festive. Right, then: done and dusted.

My neighbours across the street must have been inspired by an old Wurlitzer jukebox —they’ve hung the entire frontage of their house with lights that flash through at least half the colours of the spectrum all. flipping. night. I’ve never been so glad of black-out blinds.

With the solstice hard upon us, I finally got around to nailing horseshoes over the doors. Edmund clucked disapproval at this pagan practice, but fortunately didn’t make the fuss his rock-ribbed father would have. That would have been such a red flag!