Last week I left the safe nurturing womb of Oxfordshire and travelled up the M40 to London.

I used to live there, I had a flat on Parker Street in the West End. I didn’t like it much. I could go for weeks without seeing a tree or a field or hearing the moo of a cow.

I lived opposite the new London Theatre – oh it sounds delightful... but if I wasn’t woken up by Japanese tourists departing the evening performance of Cats and the click, click, click of their cameras, then it was the drunk who had found their way onto my roof. I remember one occasion when there were 16 policemen in the street trying to coax a man down from the top of the building after he’d had one vodka too many. God, I missed rural life. I missed good old fashioned MUD.

I do enjoy visiting occasionally, particularly at this time of year, just as long as I know I’ll be leaving at the end of the day. My husband and I decided to visit the heady heights of Oxford Street and more specifically the big shop with the yellow bags (Selfridges).

We went up to the Christmas department where you can buy fake snow. I was sidelined by a huge display of Christmas gingerbread houses, but being even more taken with the chocolate cornflake houses, I forked out for one.

My husband commented on the delight on my face upon being handed a yellow bag... I fitted in with the bag-laden throng of botox loving, belted camel coat wearing ladies who lunch, no doubt buying that fake snow for the grounds of their second home in the country.

Of course I was delighted with mine even though my bag didn’t contain designer jewels or a couture jacket but just a load of cornflakes! I’m starting to feel a little Christmassy. And it’s not because Oxford saw the big Christmas lights switch-on a week ago or that I met Father Christmas but my premature festive cheer is all thanks to Noddy and his magical Christmas adventure. We don’t watch too much television chez Kat, we certainly would never switch it on to pacify our 10-month-old daughter but we did succumb to the charms of Noddy and his ever faithful Big Ears just to see Betsy’s reaction.

Initially she was transfixed, but it soon wore off and her magnetic blocks were much more interesting than Big Ears having a deficit of magic moon dust... you see the husband and I really got into the plot – we were totally engaged by the politics of Toy Town.

Meanwhile, teething continues, three teeth and counting. It’s an uncomfortable phase, not least because of the continued disrupted sleep on the part of the parent.

I don’t believe in overdoing the baby Calpol. Some people administer at a whimper, I would rather not dope my child but sometimes it’s the best option all round. Injecting 5ml into a baby’s mouth at three in the morning requires a steady hand.

My husband missed its destination and instead administered the extremely sticky stubstance all over his leg which caused the bed sheet to stick to him like industrial glue. He now has a strip on his leg where he has been “Calpol” waxed! I’m still laughing.