Like everyone else, we have been traipsing into town Christmas

shopping over the last week or so, clutching lists of stuff to buy for people.

Daughter seems to have got the underlying principle a bit wrong though, as mostly she appears to view it as an opportunity to point out to me the things she would like to receive and most of the things she has bought so far seem to be for herself rather than anyone else.

We also had the joys of trying to find her a pair of trainers. Luckily her grandparents had generously given her the money for these.

Unluckily it still meant it was me who had the joy of accompanying her into town so we could go round every single shop in Brighton that sells trainers and discuss the different merits of Nike and Adidas and other makes.

I hadn't realised there were quite so many shops that sold the dratted things and was definitely suffering from trainer overload by the time we visited establishment number sixteen.

I mean, they all look the same to me, white with laces. We used to call them pumps in my day and only wore them under protest to do PE at school.

Nowadays they are of course a major fashion item. I must admit daughter lives in hers.

We did eventually find a pair that she liked, and that were in her size.

They did of course cost more than I would spend on a new coat but there you go, that's teenagers for you.

At least it wasn't my money.

To be honest if it had been I'd have taken her to the factory shop at the marina and told her to take her pick from their under-£20 selection.

I don't think she always appreciates just how lucky she is with her grandparents.

Once we'd got the trainers bought we concentrated on proper Christmas shopping.

"What would you like for Christmas, Mum?" she asked over a post- trainer shopping coffee.

"Some pretty candles?" I suggested.

"I'm not buying you that, you've got loads of candles already."

"Well, I'd like one of those ceramic pots with hyacinth bulbs in. I could watch them grow on the kitchen window ledge."

"Oh God, how sad are you, I'm not buying something that sad."

I made a few more suggestions which were shot down in flames as equally sad, predictably boring, pathetic or just plain too embarrassing for any 13-year-old to purchase.

Doubtless I shall receive something along the lines of a pretty purple sparkly top in a size ten which won't go anywhere near to fitting me but surprisingly will probably fit one of the other occupants of our household.

We did eventually manage to get the rest of the shopping done and bought presents for the rest of the family and various friends.

It's all piled up in the spare room and will probably sit there until Christmas Eve when I realise I haven't wrapped any of it.