Christmas tree lights? No, I'm signalling alien space lizards to come takeover from Boris Johnson – Susan Morrison

Fairy lights used to be fairly straightforward. You bought them, you put them on a tree and then you switched them on.

Boris Johnson's successor in Downing Street could be out of this world (Picture: Oli Scarff/Getty Images)

Mind you, that’s when it used to get complicated, since at least one of the tricky little devils would blow and take out the electrics for the entire house. We once plunged the whole street into darkness back in the 70s. My dad was actually pretty proud of that.

Once you’d got over that, though, it was a breeze. Plug and play. The lights went on and they stayed on.

Now, however, some form of madness has infected the manufacturers of Christmas lights. They come packed with a remote control.

Couldn’t figure that out at first. Why does anyone need a remote to switch on the tree twinklies?

Everyone knows that to turn on the lights you have to crawl underneath the tree, push the lower branches away, get pine needles in your eyes and then, ignoring the pain from the scratches on your arms, flick the switch and bingo, the wee fairy at the top has a lovely glow under her frock.

Well, I thought, a remote might be a good idea after all.

Then I discovered the real use for the remote control. Christmas lights no longer just go on and stay on. They brighten, then dim. They blaze, then flicker. They flash like a drunken sailor sending Morse code.

On one setting they go fit-inducing disco bonkers. My cat can’t stop staring at it.

The remote gives you options which I don’t think any of us really wanted. You can find the “for the love of Pete, just turn on and stay on”, but it's a bit of a faff, especially if you have more than one set.

This is choice gone mad, people. Who really needs their Christmas tree to be what looks like a flashing beacon, possibly sending out landing instructions for that alien invasion I keep hoping for? Let’s be honest, giant green lizards from deep space are almost bound to be better at running the place than sweaty white blokes from Eton.

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