WELL, it’s that time of year again and already our high streets would give Blackpool Illuminations a run for their money.

My local garden centre has been transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with Santa’s grotto and talking reindeers.

And the same old festive tunes are ringing through the ears of shoppers as they snake their way to the front of queues, already forming ahead of the big rush.

Yes folks, like it or loathe it, you can’t escape it; Christmas is only a month away.

I’m not sure what it is about the festive season that manages to surprise me every year.

After all, it’s the same calendar date every year, like something out of the film Groundhog Day – and we’ve been looking at Christmas gift wrap in our shops since August!

But just as I’d bid farewell to the summer and settled into my winter routine of cosy nights in front of the fire, curtains drawn by 6pm and with my favourite pick of TV soaps for comfort, the threat of Christmas looming was enough to rouse me from my state of semi-hibernation.

And this year I was determined not to be left out in the retail cold, with an energetic toddler to care for and another on the way.

So, with a half-hearted list in one hand and an unenthusiastic husband being dragged by the other, we finally began our Christmas shopping this week.

Our first festive year as parents was easy; anything that came in a large box with lots of colourful (and apparently edible) ribbon seemed the most popular attraction in our house on Christmas morning.

But this year our daughter’s love of popular cartoon characters forced us to venture into new and unchartered waters; the toy supermarket.

With an army of young nieces and nephews to buy for, not to mention our own little Evie, it seemed the most logical place to head for gifts. After all, everything was under one roof, so it shouldn’t take long. How wrong we were.

As we made our way through the automatic doors our jaws dropped at the sheer enormity of aisles filled with brightly-coloured plastic shapes.

Where would we start? Glancing around, safety in numbers seemed the best option.

So in true zombie-fashion we joined the trail of other confused parents hoping to grab an ideal gift for their little ones.

The choice was endless. Teddies, bikes, building blocks, dolls, prams ... you name it...

Even when you’d made your decision, the list of styles, colours and different sizes was enough to frazzle what few thoughts you had left.

After an hour of searching and only two presents in the trolley – both of which I was unsure of – I couldn’t believe this mental torture was what parenting was about.

Retailers – and the clever people who create most of the plastic commercial tat aimed at children – really have us in their grasp.

As I stood and watch anxious parents clambering around the store with huge boxes ‘guaranteed’ to make their children happy on Christmas Day I finally snapped.

“I’ve had enough!”, I screamed, much to the relief of my weary husband, who was all out of nods and enthusiastic noises by then.

With a sense of relief we ditched our almost empty trolley and ran for it.

Completely confused, my festive cheer had all but disappeared. Maybe I would return next week if or when it returned?

Or perhaps my child would be different and happy with just an orange like her great-grandma was.

Somehow I doubt it...