Roger Moroney: Deck the halls with ... bits of paper

The aftermath: Roger Moroney's reverse psychology on his granddaughters did not work as attested by this mound of wrapping paper.

And so it has come and it has gone ... sort of.

Christmas Day.

That time when many living rooms across the land are places of ... debris.

Paper debris ... parts of it which are likely to be unearthed a day or two afterwards as it went everywhere on that festive day.

Having seen the phenomenon of present opening by children since ours were little and now theirs are little, I am convinced they have equal joy in tearing the wrapping to shreds as much as finding out what is in there.

Part of this ''joy'' is in sending the shreds of paper, once so carefully wrapped and secured around the gift and looking as pretty as a picture, in as many directions as possible.

It is almost a ritual.

Christmas after Christmas after Christmas, any pleas of "put all the old wrapping paper in a pile here" fall upon deaf ears.

For they are ears deafened by the sound of paper being torn into as many pieces as mathematically possible and thrown skyward.

I came up with a novel plan on Christmas Day when the three small human paper recyclers (the Latin name is grandaughterus wreckus) were about to spark into action.

I thought I would apply some psychology.

Reverse psychology.

Instead of saying anything practical like "put all the old wrapping in a pile here" I shifted direction.

Mind chaps like Freud, Pavlov and Jung would have been impressed by my approach.

"Tear every last sheet of wrapping paper into as many pieces as you can and fling them all over the living room!"

They looked at me, then looked at each other.

Then looked at me again.

I knew what they were thinking ... basically "let's do the exact opposite ... let's put it all together in a neat pile".

No, let me re-phrase that.

I thought I knew what they were thinking.

Yep, they took my advice right down to the last words and never has the landscape of the lounge looked so ravaged.

An errant tornado couldn't have achieved what they managed to.

"I'll get a rubbish bag," was my quiet summation.

It was either that or we'd just invite the re-cycling lads in to take what they wanted at their own pace.

Must be a busy time of the year for those folks with not only all the wrapping paper, but all the cans, bottles, cartons, plastic bottles ... the lot.

Present opening is an interesting time, especially if you got things confused when it came time to put the name cards on them.

When an elderly aunt receives a "whoopee" cushion explanations are urgently required. Or a teenage son says "I'm not really into floral slippers ... like the ones you gave aunty last Christmas".

Present time.

Ah yes.

There they all are, opened and laid out proudly and you acknowledge everyone's thoughtfulness ... and then one of the little ones asks "so what was the best present you got ...hat's your very most favourite".

This is the time you bring out the two Ds.

Defensive and diplomatic, although there is a third D involved here.

You get into ''dodge'' mode.

"Well," you say like some wise old sage (despite the fact you sound like a desperate, dopey old sausage).

"They are all very special in their own very special way."

They hereupon cast glances at each other as if to ponder just how very special it is to get the three-pack of underpants.

"Very practical," is one's retort if they question this logic.

Yet try that very thing the other way around and ask them what is the very bestest thing they got.

They have no hesitation in nominating a favourite.

The idea that someone may feel a little put out because the really pretty, unique singlets failed to eclipse the ping-pong ball firing missile launcher does not come into the equation.

All part of Christmas's rich, colourful pageant. One memory which has stayed in my mind since our son was a devout paper shredder and spreader was the time we gave him a toy which was packaged in a strong box.

He liked the box more as it had lots of really colourful pictures all over it ... and later played with it, cutting the pictures out and placing them on the floor.

The toy it contained sat lonely and forlorn in the corner ... by the great pyramid of paper.