As I exhibited my usual control-freakery over the decoration of the Christmas tree and wailed hysterically at husband and children to keep their hands off (and don’t even think about coloured lights and/or tinsel), I comforted myself by the fact that we were in France, land of the effortlessly chic, and control was what was required.
Across Provence, surely houses would be decked with small twinkling silver lights; highlighting an olive tree here, a cypress there. Minimal wreaths of eucalyptus would hang on lavender blue doors. No doubt beautiful women swathed in pale grey cashmere would be arranging casual bunches of snow-white tulips.
But no. The favoured decoration in Provence is not a frosty eucalyptus branch, but a giant Santa climbing up the outside of the house. Yes, it’s true, all across Provence, ancient farm houses buzz with a hundred thousand multi-coloured lights, guiding Santa up past the perfect World of Interiors shutters and on to a flashing sleigh on the terracotta-tiled roof.
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