We’ve decked the hall with boughs of holly, wrestled a fir tree into the living room, and have pipers leaping with festive cheer from the advent calendar each morning.

We’ve paraded in our dressing gowns as shepherds for the umpteenth year and are finally appreciating the Christmas music that’s been randomly shuffling on the iPod all summer. So now it’s time to hunker down for a feast of seasonal viewing and hard-drive recording.

Engrossed in The Muppet’s Christmas Carol, my all-time favourite, we’re glad of big warm blankets and, during the yuletide adverts, we’re enjoying the range of party pullovers. TV Christmas episodes always showcase bold knitwear collections and Darcy’s reindeer jumper in Bridget Jones’s Diary remains a sartorial beacon of excellence. I’m even thinking of planning a Miranda-style festive knitwear party in a smart cocktail bar. Such fun!

Watching the TV has become far more complicated since I had children and not just because of negotiations over channel choice. Even when the children are away, there are hurdles to jump before I can tune in to The Frozen Planet Christmas Party because the remote controls now live down the side of the sofa cushions.

Settling in for an evening of TV viewing these days involves a complicated plumping and discovery exercise.

And if the Partner-in-Crime’s around then I have a snowflake in hell’s chance of channel choosing because he has to have the remote. I know it’s a terrible cliché, but it’s one into which he boldly stepped himself whilst clutching the remote tightly.

Then again, he’s technological to a level that I don’t understand. I don’t mean I don’t understand the technology itself. Rather, it’s that I don’t fully comprehend the importance of the latest gadget for every eventuality. I just need a fur-lined hood to be happy, but The Partner-in-Crime likes a technological complexity that pushes space race boundaries, a waterproof GPS system with gears, head torch, heart-rate print-outs and online forum before he can fully appreciate the great outdoors. This rather limits my chances of finding that perfect something to pop into his Christmas stocking (you can cut out quips about a shapely leg right now).

But as luck would have it, these seasonal ads have given me a flash of inspiration: I’ll get some wool and the children can knit him something special, a lovingly handcrafted waistcoat featuring reindeer leaping skyward over a snow-capped chimney.

And if I add a state-of-the-art LED nose for Rudolph, how wrong can we go?