Maybe it’s ataxophobia, the fear of disorder and untidiness, or what Edina Monsoon in Absolutely Fabulous derided as ‘things on places’. I do enjoy things on places, but only a select few in fixed positions. From a young age in a California cul-de-sac, I longed for a just so domesticity, unchanging and unceremonious. I wanted every day to look ‘everyday’. Aggressively standing in the way: the impertinent arrival of Christmas. Nobody likes when Christmas decorations appear early (hyperconsumerist) or stay late (lazy), but for years I resented them altogether. In the run-up, I shot judgy looks at the stuffed elves and plastic angels atop the piano. On Christmas morning, I intercepted discarded wrapping before it hit the floor. There’s a name for the fear of Christmas, too: Christougenniatikophobia. But I don’t get panicked about family relations or affected by past yuletide trauma. Rather, I see a wreath or bunting as representing impermanence. The festoonery interrupts the usual, how things are meant to be.…