Mark Williams has been decorating his Napier house with Christmas lights for 25 years. Photo / Supplied
Napier man Mark Williams has spent 25 years kitting out his home with Christmas lights. He explains the major triumphs, the minor disasters and how it became a December tradition for everyone in Hawke’s Bay to visit the Westminster Ave property.
It started with Tim Allen.
Every time I watched Home Improvement and saw his house explode into light, I felt something flicker inside me — not just laughter, but possibility.
There was a joy in his ridiculous excess, a defiant brightness that seemed to say, “I can make the world shimmer, if only for a while”.
For years, that scene lived in my imagination. By 1998, when I moved into my new house, I decided it was time to make that fantasy real.
My first lights came from the Warehouse and Kmart, the kind that promised festive cheer but mostly delivered frustration.
The cords were heavy, the transformers buzzed, and the bulbs blew if you so much as looked at them wrong.
But at night, when they finally flickered to life, I felt like I’d built a tiny piece of magic on my own roofline.
Then came Ruffo, a six-foot-tall, slightly battered reindeer my friend Conrad drove all the way from Wellington, tied to the top of his van like a Christmas miracle on wheels.
Ruffo became the heart of the show, surrounded by fairy lights, painted “Merry Christmas” windows, and those giant 100-watt “fast-food” bulbs that made my garage hum with the sound of an overloaded powerboard.
Next, the rain came, one drop hit a hot bulb, and suddenly the night sky lit up with pops and sparks.
The house fuse blew, the lights went out, and I stood there in the dark, half-laughing, half-panicking, thinking: Well, that’s one way to learn waterproofing.
The next year brought new lessons and mixing transformers from different light sets created enough heat to nearly start a fire but by then, I was hooked.
Around 2001, I started to dream bigger. I met Barry and after a few hours listening to his tales of trade and travel, I walked out $900 lighter but armed with my first professional-grade lights.
When I flicked them on, the house looked like a postcard from the North Pole.
Unfortunately, another storm hit, and my “weatherproofing” (a mix of plastic bags and wishful thinking) failed miserably.
The lights fried, the insurance company paid out, and I learned once again that ambition and electricity make dangerous bedfellows.
By 2002, I’d caught the lighting bug badly enough to open a shop of my own.
My house became the testing ground for 15 sets, 15 metres each, running from the antenna down.
But the real problem was power.
Running 100 metres of incandescent rope light drew 10 amps. Add 20 motifs at a couple amps each, and suddenly I was pulling close to 80 amps — more than the whole house could handle.
I had to split everything across four circuit breakers, and even then, if someone boiled the jug, the lights went out.
My crowning technical disaster came with my attempt at synchronised music lights.
I bought several 16-channel controllers, hired electricians, even installed a small FM transmitter on the roof so people could listen to the show in their cars.
In my head, I was creating a miniature Disneyland.
In reality, one faulty bulb could blow the whole system — and more than once, it did.
Around 2005, LEDs arrived, crisp, cool white and gloriously efficient.
I could finally plug in hundreds of metres of lights without the house sounding like it was about to lift off.
By 2008, the display had become a full-time project, setup took six weekends and what had started as a hobby was now a small seasonal enterprise.
In 2014, I decided the lights should mean more than just decoration. I set up a charity collection box.
From then on, every dollar went where it mattered most, Riding for Disabled, the Children’s Ward, cancer support rooms, community fundraisers, with this year’s funds for Trinity Hutchins.
Over time, the lights have raised about $40,000 for Hawke’s Bay causes.
Some nights, I sit out front quietly, in my chair, just listening. People don’t know it’s me, they point, take photos, laugh, whisper things like, “I wonder who lives here”, or “this is the best I’ve ever seen”.
For me, that’s the real light show. Not the LEDs, but the reactions.
Twenty-five years later, those early kids who came in pushchairs now bring their own children. The display has become a Napier tradition — not just mine, but ours.
It’s a full production now, drawing 10,000-20,000 visitors each season, with 5000 walking right through the yard.
Local motels fill up, restaurants get busier — the lights ripple far beyond my front gate.
It takes two months to set up, 12 to plan, and countless hours of testing, wiring, hoping and fixing.
But when I see a child’s face glow in the coloured light, or hear a parent whisper, “This made our Christmas”, I know exactly why I keep doing it.
It’s not just about lighting a house. It’s about lighting up life — for me, for my community and for anyone who still believes that a few twinkling lights can make the dark a little less dark.