APROPER tree apart - and never mind a few fallen needles - my home is bereft of Christmas decoration.

Holly is firmly excluded, since my wife and I believe all berries should be left for the birds. But we also feel that our Christmas cards, spreading from mantelpiece to dresser, window sills and bookshelves provide sufficient seasonal flavour.

Not without twinges of guilt, we no longer put out every card. Well, senders we haven't seen for many years, and who are rarely in our thoughts except through the Christmas card list, are unlikely to turn up and check for the presence of their card.

I'll be surprised if, in any home, more than a dozen or so of the cards received or sent are regarded as truly important. A card that matters much to my wife and me comes from a Carmelite nun. A newsletter that she enclosed this year told us that, for the first time in 100 years, her "monastery" - the correct term - held an open day. On the evidence of some photographs, it turned out to be a very happy occasion.

Drawn by a Sister, the card itself is the best we have received. With just three or four swirls of a felt pen, it brilliantly suggests the Madonna and Child. If it were by Michelangelo or (stylistically closer) Picasso, it would be worth millions. My wife and I will keep it.

Sadly, less than a quarter of our received cards support charities. Two that do are in aid of Mouth and Foot Painting Artists. Barely able to draw an egg, I salute Alison Lapper for her vigorous mouth painting of trees overhanging a beck, and her fellow mouth painter Trevor Wells, whose very striking Sunrise Over the River shows a boldly coloured sky subtly yielding way to the delicate tracery of rimy trees on the riverbank.

If the cards you sent this Christmas weren't charity cards - well, what are New Year resolutions for?

ASEASONAL anniversary that has escaped notice is of John Betjeman's well-known poem, Christmas. It first appeared 60 years ago this month in Harpers Bazaar.

The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations singles out the verse whose images include "girls in slacks remember Dad, And oafish louts remember Mum.'' Better, I think, is Betj's summation of Christmas presents: "the sweet and silly Christmas things, Bath salts and inexpensive scent, And hideous tie so kindly meant.'' But it is the concluding thought that counts: And is it true? And is it true?

The Maker of the stars and sea Become a child on earth for me?

. . . For if it is, No love that in a family dwells, No carolling in frosty air, Nor all the steeple-shaking bells Can with this truth compare - That God was Man in Palestine And lives today in Bread and Wine.

BUT finally - the outdoor Christmas illuminations at a house in my village have required a big switch OFF.

When they garlanded a holly tree with twinkling lights, the homeowners discovered the spectacle was lost amid the existing lights that bathe their house and garden. So, their not-inconsiderable contribution to light pollution has been temporarily extinguished - a welcome Christmas present for the neighbours, I'm sure.