THIS year I may have compiled the worst Christmas wish list that Santa has ever seen.

And by 'worst', I mean 'I need to get a life'.

Forget mobile phones, perfume and swanky clothes, because this year I'm keeping everything crossed for something far more practical.

"Are you serious?" asked Smithy, when I pulled up the website I'd been looking at.

"This is what you want me to get you? Not something a bit more...fun?"

I rolled my eyes: "It's not THAT weird!"

But it turns out that yes, it is that weird.

No respectable 20-something (just) should put 'a comfortable chair' at the top of their Christmas present list.

And, according to the looks my colleagues gave me when the subject came up, 'matching foot rest' should not be in firm second place.

"Yeah..." said one, in the kindly way he might also speak to his grandma. "Well it's certainly not something I'd ask for, but...um...each to their own?"

This is the reaction you get when your colleagues are all young and cool, and more importantly, don't consider the Ikea catalogue an interesting read.

But still - at least the chair will be useful.

More useful than the tarantula I asked for when I was eight (and which my sister, through hysterical sobs, vetoed).

And certainly more useful than the 'pet' badger I set my heart on when I was nine.

My sister was more keen on that idea, but funnily enough Santa had completely run out of angry wild animals that year.

(Interestingly enough, that was the year I discovered a reply takes less than an hour from the North Pole, and that Santa's elves use the same writing paper as my dad.)

Anyway, the upshot is that Smithy has agreed to me get me a 'comfortable chair' for Christmas.

He agreed with judgment on his face, and I was left defending my request: "I'm going to need it when..."

He interrupted: "...when you're feeding the baby."

I shook my head.

"No," I continued. "I was going to say, I'll need it to prop me up when I've eaten my weight in chocolate oranges.

"So you'd best put a couple of those on my list too."