After thirty years he can still surprise me.  ”Would you like a sugar bowl for Christmas?”  he asked all pleased with himself for coming up with such a genius idea.

He is not, as is usual, in the know. The present every woman wants this year is not a sugar bowl but a service that is lady flowering all over America - a Vagazzle. Essentially a Brazilian with crystals. Or, if you are understated kind of gal  you can opt for the cleansing, moisturising and toning treat that is the Vagacial………

‘The 50-minute treatment  involves four steps. First, skin is cleansed with an antibacterial body wash and witch hazel. Then, a papaya-based exfoliating gel goes on before the aesthetician extracts ingrown hairs. After that, an anti-freckle, anti-acne, or calming mask is applied. It finishes off with an application of lightening cream.’

Oh and let’s share the love. For our menfolk  ‘Boyzilians’  are  on offer, too.

My Irish mother gene makes me want to scream at Mariah Carey “Keep your chest warm!” Her dress has got to be on back to front, right ?

Nicole Kidman has taken to wearing vintage Austrian blinds in toilet roll colours to awards, but her husband Keith Urban looked very dishy and sober and adoring - so good for her.

Jeremy Irons is dry as dust and if there was a special award for being an up yourself ageing lothario it would be his in perpetuity. Ralph Fiennes can be his deputy.

The question I most want to be asked in the coming week is “Who are you wearing?”  I plan to reply ‘Robert Dyas’ or ‘William Hill’ because I have gleaned from the red carpet interviews that it’s not what you say but the WIGGLE that goes with the answer that counts.

The final straw came last year when someone who knows me very well bought me a Slanket.  This abomination is a £25 square of scratchy fleece material ( oversized even for Arnold Swarzenegger) for certified slobs to enjoy.  It’s for loafing around all day, and some of the night, until it’s time for a sideways move from the Slanket into the duvet.  That manoeuvre would  probably be the only exercise a Slanket enthusiast would get all day. It has pouch pockets on the front roomy enough for a tv remote and a Mars Bar six pack.

My husband hasn’t given me a present for 30 years since he went through a phase of  buying me waxed huntin’, fishin’, shootin’ clothes from an Army Surplus Store and I thanked him with a heavy blunt object.

If I changed my mind and told him there had been a rule change, I know he would head straight for Robert Dyas, or Wickes. And I don’t want any charity goats, either, thanks very much.