ORDINARILY, shopping is one of my all-time favourite pastimes.

Women around the world will agree: nothing beats the Zen-like state you can achieve floating around a department store's beauty counters testing out lip glosses on the back of your hand and squirting different perfumes on every available inch of skin.

But Christmas shopping? That's a whole different ball game.

Perhaps I'm being selfish in thinking that shopping for someone else isn't as much fun.

But it's just not, is it?

Christmas shopping takes all the bad things about shopping (queues, indecision about what to buy, expense) and multiplies them by 100. And I forget to budget for presents every single year.

To be fair, the women in my life are quite easy to buy for. After all, who doesn't love a set of luxury toiletries, a piece of jewellery or a bottle of their favourite perfume?

And you know women will return a present and swap it for something else if they don't like it.

But the men? They're a nightmare.

What are you supposed to buy them? They never seem to want or need anything that's not a boring essential, like socks.

My dad has had the same five presents on rotation for Christmases for the last 29 years from me and my sisters.

It goes: “Dad” mug, M&S underpants, 100 per cent cotton socks (red), Beach Boys CD, blue V-neck jumper.

Every year without fail he'll get at least three of these items, and every year he'll say he likes them.

We've tried to be more creative but if you ask him what present he wants he'll always say something wildly inappropriate, like “a windmill” or “a pair of cowboy boots'”.

Boyfriends aren't much better.

I did all right for a couple of years as he got into making cocktails and there was always some exotic spirit you could only buy in Italy, or a limited edition vodka to track down. But now as our “bar” groans under the weight of dozens of bottles, I need a new idea.

Clothes are out as he gets all jumpy whenever I try to dress him.

That might be something to do with the fact I'm always trying to get him into velvet jackets and jaunty scarves — but still.

I guess Christmas presents just aren't my thing.

You could argue that I'm as bad a receiver of gifts as I am a giver.

My mum bought me a Homer Simpson soap on a rope stocking filler about five years ago and, such was my horror, she now insists on buying me a Simpsons novelty item every year as punishment.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to do away with presents altogether and just exchange cash.