How working-class are your Christmas decorations?

THERE’S a fine line between decorating your home tastefully for the festive season and outing yourself as a tasteless pleb. Our guide tells you what is acceptable.

Inflatable snowman

Invariably looming and hideous like something from a nightmare and kept inflated with a noisy motor that disturbs the peace of the whole crescent.

Working-class rating: Common

Light-up presents and candy canes

A tough one to call. Good quality ones can be quite tasteful and jolly, and the American influence suggests a certain cultural sophistication. Also illuminates your year-round herb garden.

Working-class rating: Indeterminate

Outdoor figures of Simpsons in Santa hats

Nothing shouts ‘white van man’ like a glowing Homer Simpson with only the most cursory Christmas connection.

Working-class rating: Staffie, tracksuit and fights outside pubs

Large plastic Christmas tree

Not having a real tree is shamefully nouveau, but the really big plastic ones are expensive and you may simply have better things to do than endlessly pick up pine needles.

Working-class rating: Fine for barristers, doctors and Stacey Solomon alike

Minimalist fairy lights

Whether neatly affixed to your porch or draped on a shrub, these lights are boring but do not really have any class connotations. Unless set on ‘twinkle’, which is tacky.

Working-class rating: Acceptable for white-collar professionals as long as everyone else on the new-build estate also has them

Life-size Santa, sleigh and reindeer on your roof

This OTT exercise in showing off strongly suggests you are either a lottery winner or a builder coining it in by fiddling your tax.

Working-class rating: You are the King of the Chavs, and this is your crown

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Woman quits job after getting boss in Secret Santa

A WOMAN has decided it is easier to walk out of her job than to buy a Secret Santa present for her boss. 

Client manager Helen Archer picked boss Joseph Turner, who is known for his big car, fancy things and easily-bruised ego, out of the Secret Santa hat then sat staring blankly at her desk for five minutes before handing in her notice.

She said: “I know a trap when I see one. Quitting is the only way I was getting out of this alive.

“It’s a lose-lose situation. Even if I overspend it’ll still be nothing like the standard he believes himself to deserve. His face was like thunder when he opened that Lindt last year.

“Or I go for a joke gift, watch it fall flat and see everyone sidle away from me as he asks what’s funny about an inflatable sumo suit, then get fired for an ostensibly completely different reason in the New Year.

“I did consider getting him something that would actually hurt him, like a puppy he’d then have to look after or a pair of gardening gloves full of broken glass, but I need a reference. Better this way. Bye everyone.”

The Department for Work and Pensions estimate that Secret Santa costs the economy over £800,000 annually in lost hours due to people quitting rather than buy a colleague a thoughtful gift.