Socks will do for me, it's women who want the earth

For seeing people crazed by shopping, clutching great handfuls of branded carrier bags, puts you right off consumerism, if anything can. And just learning what are considered to be the most covetable presents this year leaves one feeling so repelled and detached from worldly matters that it does the spirit as much good as a month of fasting or perching on a pillar in a desert.

We had better tactfully leave aside children's presents. True, this year's must-haves - the Doctor Who Dalek Sec Hybrid Voice Changer Mask, the Barbie Girls MP3 player and the like - are strikingly awful. But we can't blame children for the sins of the parents.

And we can forget Christmas presents for men, too. Unless for some reason he doesn't have a decent drill, a man just doesn't care.

That leaves us with those really responsible for Christmas shopping. Women.

What do women want? Freud asked hopelessly, after a lifetime of study. Now, after some up-to-the-minute in-depth research, we can answer. The Roland Mouret Moon Dress, made of stretchy cotton, as worn by Posh in fuchsia, retailing at £990. Bags from Mulberry - the Agyness, say, made from soft goat's leather and costing £695. La Durée macaroons, horribly sweet little biccies dyed improbable colours, retailing at £2.70 the macaroon, or £29 the smallest gift box. And Oliver Peoples Luxury Harlot diamond-studded oversized sunglasses, as worn by Paris Hilton, a snip at £3,200.

Perhaps somewhere there is a land where presents that are really needed are given and received, a land populated by men who have worn out all their socks and women who have mislaid all their underwear. A happy land.

We don't live there. Where we live we know that presents must be bought, though we don't know why or what they are for. Sallying forth at the last minute to make these purchases is a harrowing experience.

The lessons that can be learned from this agony are many. Some may find themselves remembering St Paul's tip to the Colossians, to set our affections on things above, not on things on the earth. Others of a different bent may resort to hoping that it is all illusion anyway, an effect that can be usefully enhanced by a large glass.

But let nobody say that Christmas is not a transcendent time of year. Approached in the right spirit, nothing this excruciating can fail to teach us a lesson. I shall cling to that belief anyway, when I begin my Christmas shopping on Monday.