WE never argue about the big things in our house. Not about world peace or the meaning of life or even the latest series of political scandals. No, it's only the small things. Like lavatory paper. I only mention it because I think anyone who is contemplating sharing a house with any members of their family in any combination should bear this in mind. Lavatory paper can spark a conflict that a discussion on the latest machinations of whatever government is in power cannot. My daughter, after decades of being courted by the likes of Andrex, is firmly of the opinion that the only civilised way to live is to have at least two ply paper, preferably quilted, hanging in the loo. I, on the other hand, can't see the point of buying anything other than the 'everyday' loo paper, which is supermarket speak for cheap. The difference, if you discount the ply, is around a £1. 30 per four rolls. My opinion, for what it's worth, and very few people seem to share it, is that given what loo paper is for, and we won't go into that, it is a functional material and nobody needs to bring design into it. On occasions we have had lavatory paper printed with floral designs, paper in various pastel shades to match the decor, now it's quilted. What next? Patchwork? Hand embroidered? Lace edged? My argument is that the reasonably soft, plain white paper does the job just as well and surely nobody could object to it. But they do. It hasn't quite come to blows but there was an occasion when the new pack of handy economy, sorry everyday, paper has been lobbed out of the downstairs loo in the direction of the bin and a pastel pink quilted variety has replaced it. It's no good telling the quilted paper addicts that it may look as if the posh paper goes further because it has more sheets but this isn't true because it is used for other purposes. Like taking off make-up and nail varnish; polishing spectacles; shining shoes or as a handy hankie. You watch as members of your family reel off two dozen sheets to stuff in their pocket in case they need to blow their nose or clean their windscreen. They don't do this with the cheapo white paper. It's a little too like sandpaper for delicate skin or delicate anything else. So it's not only cheap, it goes further. This won't convince any of those who need their paper to match their curtains, and I dare say it's always going to be a bone of contention in the house. I may one day rebel and start tearing up copies of the Daily Telegraph, or perhaps the Sun would be more deserving, and hanging neat little squares on a string in view when guests are due. Incidentally, the same thing happens with kitchen roll, which infuriates me even more. Why anyone needs floral printed pastel quilted paper just to mop up cat sick when the everyday sort will do it just as well I'll never know. I'm sure the cats don't mind. These little spats are, of course, not really serious. Potentially more dangerous are two women sharing one kitchen. I like hanging things on the wall, she doesn't. She had the kitchen walls tiled from top to bottom. Round one, I think, and not to me. I can't abide plug in air fresheners. They go in, I take them out or switch them off. Later, even more sneakily, I find a dead one and keep replacing live ones with it. We've now switched to the sort you press and a puff of noxious chemical smell wafts out, as seen advertised on television with that gormless family all sitting round watching for the next puff of floral scented fumes to emerge. As for cooking, we try not to do it in tandem. One in one out is best, although occasionally two of us are juggling hot roasting tins and trying not to clash with our sprout pans. A real bone of contention could be the fridge and the larder. Occasionally cries of 'who ate my tuna in olive oil', and 'hands up the salami thief', can be heard ringing around the kitchen. I do find that a surprising number of times the only things which go missing are fairly exotic foodstuffs, like tins of clams or lobster bisque, whereas you can buy half a dozen tins of corned beef and they stay in the cupboard forever. I can't claim to be innocent in this because I'm rather partial to a yoghurt now and again and not always my own. We've not yet resorted to labelling things 'theirs' and 'mine', but it may come to it the next time anyone runs off with my strawberries. Then there's the washing line. Both my daughters absolutely hate me leaving the pegs on the line when I bring the washing in. I don't know where they got this strange phobia from, but both seem to think that it's not socially acceptable to be seen with a line full of empty pegs. It is, they say, an indication that a slut is living in the house who can't be bothered to pick her pegs off the line and store them in a handy little basket or bag marked 'pegs'. Well no, this slut can't see the point of removing perfectly innocuous pegs, dropping theme into a container and then have to bend down the next time the washing is put out and remove them one by one. I also got in trouble once from my eldest daughter for 'overpegging'. Didn't know it existed until then. Apparently you shouldn't attach one lot of clothes to another but put two pegs on each garment. Why you ask. So did I, but there didn't seem to be any explanation except 'we don't do that'. See what I mean about not fighting over the meaning of life. We don't have time to do that, what with worrying about pegs and plug in air fresheners. Christmas being just around the corner there are going to be one or two little rows looming. The biggest one we ever had was when someone used the last 12 inches of my Sellotape on Christmas Eve. There I was, with half a dozen parcels left to wrap and the knowledge that I had to be sparing with the sticky tape, when someone snuck in, lifted my Sellotape and casually ripped off the last foot to wrap the cats' Christmas stocking. As if cats would care if they were wrapped or not. After a fruitless search the only thing remotely sticky I could find was black insulating tape, which looks decidedly unfestive. This year the stock of Sellotape is going to be under lock and key for the whole of the run-up period. Decorations can be another sticky problem. But this time I have allies. All children love tat at Christmas. The tackier the better. They love sparkling red, silver and gold balls for the tree, tinsel in a myriad of colours, fairies with surprised looks on their faces and great big crinolines. They adore stockings with bells on that play a tune when you pick them up, and they love to load the Christmas tree with everything but the kitchen sink. On the other hands many adults are into the designer look. They like themed trees in just one colour. White, silver or gold, or even a purple theme with a fairy wearing an aubergine shift dress. There is no space on this kind of tree for wooden Santas or ropes of multi coloured beads, candy canes or strings of Roses chocolates. No space for the rather tattered Robin I had when I was a child, whose beak is now somewhat askew, nor the two dozen red apples I bought years ago. The children like to sneak their own ideas onto the tree, but sadly home made paper chains are not always popular. Usually I have a second tree in my sitting room, which ends up looking as if a Christmas decoration shop bas been upended over it, weighing down its branches almost to the floor. Two sets of lights just about illuminate it from behind dozens of what can only be called old balls, the remnants of yesteryears designer ideas. But the children love it, and to heck with good taste. At the moment I'm fighting a nasty little devil inside me which is urging me to buy the five foot dancing Santa Claus who sings five Karaoke songs in that tinny computer-like voice. On the one hand it could be the perfect addition to Christmas morning. On the other hand it could be the final straw which could leave me eating my Christmas dinner in the shed.