Arty Crafty

Last year I fully intended to make our Christmas cards. I was in 'artisan' mode, having just given up teaching, and being, by that time, in full swing of writing full time. I was at a creative peak. I purchased blank cards and all sorts of accessories with which to embellish said cards with some kind of suitable Christmassy effect. I even got to the point of sitting at the table in my writing room, with all the card making accoutrements spread before me, ready to begin production.

And then I got stuck.

The possibility of choice was over-whelming. What form should our Christmas cards take? What picture, or symbolic representation of the festive season would best convey Andy and I as a happy Christmas couple? What colour theme should I use? Should I do a variety of designs to suit the variety of family and friends we have? Should I do a poem for the inside?

Well, of course, they didn't get made, did they? The sheer enormity of the task caused me to chicken out. My friend, Sarah, has been making her own cards for years and years. They have style, they have a brand - Santa Slanda -they contain a long and very funny poem centered on the main news topic of the year and one of the highlights of my Christmas is waiting for Sarah's card 'n' poem combo to arrive. I have collected each and every one of them.

And I have made cards before, so it's not a wholly unusual activity for me. In fact, Andy and I designed and made our wedding invitations. We selected a colour theme - pinks, lilacs, purples and burgundy - we created a design, we wrote and printed the invitation details to stick inside, we added ribbons and sparkle, we set up a production line on the dining room table, we manufactured 50 invitations without arguing and calling off the wedding. We even managed a set of 100 place name cards for the tables to match. Mission accomplished.

So what is it about Christmas? What is it about creating a Christmas card that is causing me such angst? I'll tell you what it is, because the reason woke me up at 4.30 this morning. It's because every year we are bombarded with magazines, TV programmes and advertising that promises us 'The Best Christmas EVER!!!!!!!'. And being a perfectionist, I am sucked into this ideal and of course, the best way to avoid failure on the perfection front is to not try in the first place. I am, in some weird subliminal way, attempting to magic up the ultimate perfect best-ever Christmas card in the history of since when Christmas began.

And it's all subjective, isn't it? What I like and deem to be perfection, may be some other person's vision of tat and tackiness. (I know, seems unlikely doesn't it, given my obvious impeccable taste, but one has to consider these possibilities, doesn't one, Jerry?). I mean, Andy and I had a Muppet themed wedding. Okay, so we didn't go as far as dressing up as Kermit and Miss Piggy, but the thought was there, believe me, and there but for Moss Bros being thin on the green tuxedo front go we. We named the tables after Muppets, we had Muppets sitting on the tables, we walked down the aisle as husband and wife to Muppet songs. But other than that, it was very tasteful.

So why don't I do Muppet Christmas cards? Because they would be tacky, that's why. Don't ask me how I arrive at this conclusion; I just know in my Christmassy heart that it would be wrong. (Although our tree top decoration is Gonzo dressed as a Christmas fairy, wand and all.)

And now three chickens have arrived at the back door dressed as can-can dances.
'Can I help?' I say.
'We've come for the Christmas card photoshoot,' says Mrs Miggins, adjusting her frilly knickers as they are a bit tight and giving her, what I believe is called in common parlance, a wedgy.
'Yes,' says Mrs Pumphrey, a vision in red and black frills, hiding coyly behind an elaborate fan.
'Photoshoot?' I say, glancing down at the three pairs of patent leather ankle boots that are tapping in excited anticipation.

'Yes,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'We're the two turtle doves and the partridge in a pear tree.'

Oh good grief!