THE RETURN OF SECRET SANTA

"Ready?" said my Mum, poking her head around the door.

"For?" I said.

"Secret Santa!"

I groaned inwardly. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, especially Advent I suppose, but there are some parts of the festive process I could do without. The annual Family Secret Santa is one of them.

Some time ago, we all realised that it was growing increasingly stressful and expensive, finding gifts for everybody. The adults in the family settled upon the secret santa as a kind of solution to the problem. In the middle of November, we'd all write out a list with suggested gifts approximating to the value of around £20, then we'd all put our lists in a hat and... well, I won't insult your intelligence by explaining how it works.

If you remember, last year I just wrote 'AMAZON VOUCHERS' in capital letters. That was OK. I got Amazon Vouchers. This year I added a couple of suggestions to my list just to keep my Mum happy.

She has an extraordinary way of working out who picks out who, my Mum. I don't know how she does it. Every year, within hours, she seems to know exactly which of us ended up with which list. Like an all-seeing-eye, she acts as a sort of oracle to those of us who can't read each other's handwriting or need some clarification.

It's quite nice but it does render the 'secret' part of the secret santa a bit redundant. Anonymity's tough when Mum's got eyes in the back of her head.

I can't tell you who I've got this year (obviously) but once again, with a weary sigh, I note that this person's selection fails to remove the stress from the process. There are three items - one seems wholly inappropriate for me to ask for in a shop(!) another is so vague that I'm bound to get it completely wrong, and the third is really tough (and I mean really tough) to buy for someone without them there to give it the thumbs up.

I have folded up the little piece of paper and stored it somewhere safe.

I first came across the idea of secret santa, years ago in an office. I got a bottle of prosecco. It's still on my shelf, where it functions as a serviceable bookend. I always thought that secret santa was a sort of forced way of being nice to people you didn't really know - a mechanism that makes you admit that you don't know everyone you work with as well as you're expected to. The bland, generic gift you swiped off a supermarket shelf that morning and wrapped up in your lunch break, has been returned by another bland, generic gift of equal value. You've broken even and Sainsbury's are rolling in it. Happy Christmas.

When it was suggested for our family, I did feel a bit funny about it. I was close that year, to suggesting we all buy our own gifts, just to be on the safe side. It's not really in the spirit of the thing though is it? It is, after all, nice to have at least something to open.

And anyway, listen to me going on about it like an old Scrooge! I'm supposed to be a big fan of the festive season, and all I've done today is moan about the opportunity of doing something nice for somebody!

Well, anyway, you'll probably see me, traipsing round town on those December Saturdays, trying to get the task right, clutching that folded piece of paper and looking lost and embarrassed. Maybe if you do, you should take a photo of me looking Dickensianly grumpy about the whole thing. Actually, do that, take a photo and I'll frame it and wrap it up. I think my family would find that really amusing.