HAVING not been at home for Christmas in the past nine years I've never had lights or a tree or any of the decorative trappings that signal the coming of the Christ child and Santa. This year, though, like everyone, I was in my own flat with carte blanche on the festive arrangements. Never particularly crafty, I made a wreath for my front door with bits and pieces of greenery foraged from the floor of Queen's Park. I bought a tiny real tree, festooned with white lights and a poinsettia blooming prettily among the cards and wrapped parcels. For the first time I felt a need for bright things in darkness, found a new appreciation for the winter festival and all of its lights.