Could I cover my house in hand-made paper flowers? Yes, if I�d started in 1972

ONE of our sons has been chosen to take part in the local gala. This means we are expected to decorate the outside of our house. The first year we lived here, a bungalow on our high street was completely shrouded in hardboard and transformed into an authentic-looking medieval castle. Although I've tried to blot it from memory, this castle has lurked in my mind ever since, setting the standard should one of our children ever be selected.

It is apparent to anyone who enters our house that we are not what you'd call "handy". An Ikea towel rail has languished on our bathroom floor, waiting to be put up, for six years. However, one afternoon several months ago, gala representatives arrived on our doorstep, inviting our son to take part. Since then, we have been asked if we've started our decorations virtually on a daily basis.

Even in April, gala day felt so far in advance that I could reassure myself that, by the time it rolled around, tiny elves would have moved in to toil during the night. Alas, they haven't come. Even worse, we don't know which "theme" to choose, or how to stick things to the side of our house without them falling off or damaging the building irreparably. We hear of families who've covered their houses in 8000 hand-made paper flowers, but that's no good because we should have started in 1972. "Just turn your house into an Egyptian pyramid," suggests an eager friend. I'm confused by her use of the word "just". It's like telling a non-pianist that, to master Rachmaninov, you "just" sit on that little stool in front of the piano and waggle your fingers about.

"Just make a wooden frame," she continues, "and get lots of old sheets and dye them a sort of ochre colour, then paint them with hieroglyphics and attach them to the frame." And when should I tackle this project? After I've died and been reincarnated as a master carpenter?

Another friend suggests we "just" hire a projector and beam slides of our jolly, happy family onto the side of our house, in the way that Gail Porter's naked backside was once projected onto the Houses of Parliament. My mind hurtles forward as I imagine the swift arrival of the constabulary should we attempt a similar caper. Yet I can't think of an alternative.

As a family, we seem to be particularly slack at the moment. When the children were asked to take a home-made healthy snack to school, I bought mounds of exotic fruits for them to carve into fancy shapes. Grudgingly, one of my sons stuffed some grapes into a plastic bag. His brother took a cracker and a slice of cheese. I explained that other children's fruit salads would be transported to school in hollowed-out watermelons, carved into pigs. Their crackers and cheese would be fashioned to form entire decks of playing cards. My son just shoved his cling-filmed package into his pocket. I started ranting that, in my day, I'd have created an ethnic necklace by threading dried figs and apricots on string. At that point he mooched off to his room, put The Killers on loudly and shut the door.

I despair of my kids. I despair at all of us. Every time a friend asks: "Started those house decorations yet?" a tic starts up beneath my eye. Our bacon is saved, however, when friends let slip that they have old gala decorations in their garage. I zoom over and tear dozens of hardboard sea creatures from their grasp. It's not cheating, OK? It's recycling. Don't let anyone say we haven't put in the effort for gala day.