My wife and daughters don’t like surprises. This makes attempts to be an unpredictable, fun dad rather tricky as I quite enjoy spreading a sprinkle of joy through the medium of consumerism. Strangely, the only surprise that the kids enjoy is a Kinder Surprise. If ever there was a product that deserved vitriol and to be forced to change its name under consumer legislation, it is that.

It’s not even a ‘kinda’ surprise. There are no revelations in being given a millionth of an ounce of powdery chocolate moulded around a cheap plastic egg, which gives birth to a flimsy excuse for a ‘toy’, which, if you have the patience to put it together, is then never, ever, played with. At 80p a pop, the only remarkable thing is how Kinder have got away with marketing this crud for so long. The badly dubbed adverts are fronted by Aryan looking upper-middle class Euro children. These freaks of nature get manically over excited at being presented with the scrapings from the recesses at the bottom of the toy industry barrel.

Shopping for a spouse’s birthday is always fraught with danger. It is time consuming, with the ultimate outcome of spreading displeasure. I have never bought a ‘main’ present for my wife that hasn’t resulted in my standing in a queue at customer services ready to present my payment card to elicit a refund. This year I purchased some Chanel perfume (not her brand), chilli tomato ketchup (a cost effective hit), A CD (which she will never listen to) and for the main course, a GPS smart watch with built in step count. Feigning joy, she later discreetly informed me she would never use it, and back to the customer service queue I went. To be fair, this was a vast improvement on a birthday a few years ago. Living the Thursday night dream, shirt ironing, the iron burst into flames. After dumping the burnt out Breville in the middle of the front garden in an attempt to make my neighbourhood look like south London, I sneaked off to the local store to purchase another when a brainwave hit me. Why not wrap the new iron and give it as an ‘extra’ present?

In hindsight, it wasn’t my finest hour. My mistake was allowing t’wife to open the iron first without a pre-requisite statement explaining my purchasing thought process. She is a patient woman, but it is fair to say it was not a gift that went down well. In my defence, the steam and squirt function cuts through the most stubbornly creased cotton surfaces like a hot knife through butter.

Others plan the yearly rigmarole more effectively. A chum of mine recently got together with a new lady friend. I asked him what he liked about her. His answer was: "she’s lovely, kind, pretty…but most importantly she shares her birthday with Jesus so I only have to do the present thing once a year".

My answer to avoid last minute Amazon Prime purchases is that I have concocted a present box. I am sure this concept is rather common. It is the place where you discard unwanted presents to pass on to others. It ticks all the boxes: You look thoughtful, having given a present to a family member you see once year on gift exchange day and it frees up scarce cupboard space.

As for Christmas: I’m stuck already. I’m wondering if my wife would like an acre of the moon or a star named after her? In my heart I know she won’t care for either so no doubt I will spend Christmas eve jogging around the Hatfield Galleria desperately trying to source an overpriced body butter basket which I can package as an ethical gift from a sustainable source. Failing that, we are in desperate need of a new microwave since the Toshiba gave up the radioactive ghost.