Mine was a hoot, thanks. Literally. Any visitors to our place on Christmas morning could have been pardoned for thinking they'd entered the owlry at Hogwarts, such was the too-witting and too-wooing and general ballyhooing issuing from the eyrie otherwise known as Our Bedroom.

Before you go getting the wrong idea about what goes on upstairs, I should tell you that we gave the daughter a hand-crafted stump of wood, which imitates the call of a Tawny Owl when you blow into it, as a stocking-filler present.

It cost £6.99 from Richmond Castle gift shop, which is a lot for a stump of wood, even if it is certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council's Chain of Custody and was rescued from a bonfire in the Heart of England. And yes, the sound is authentic but one owl hooter in the family is very definitely enough.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I unwrapped my own presents. From the daughter, a handmade, much Sellotaped bookmark, a pencil holder made from a toilet roll, a candle she'd won with my raffle ticket at the ballet show and a pot of Avon foundation from the school tombola. And from the husband, an intriguingly shaped box that contained a Hooting Owl.

At this point, the look of delight that I had managed so well to maintain slipped. I had already opened a kimono-clad torso jewellery holder and a pack of three recycled pens made from car parts, which had stretched the smile a little thin. The hooting owl - fair-trade, made from Acacia wood, country of origin unspecified - was a gift too far. In the wrong direction.

According to a survey conducted on behalf of eBay, almost six million unwanted presents will have been unwrapped in Yorkshire and the Humber this Christmas, part of the £4 billion spent on wasted presents across the country. I suspect, if the husband is anything to go by, they were purchased largely by men.

"Exactly what was going through your mind when you bought me this?" I demanded dangerously. And before I've got curl tamer and mascara on, I can appear very dangerous indeed, as the postman would probably vouch (He tactfully avoids making eye contact when I'm signing for parcels in my dressing gown.)

"At what point did I ever mention I wanted to blow into the back of an owl's head and make hooting noises?" I continued. "What about all the hints I dropped about cashmere cardigans and fluffy dressing gowns and some new perfume? Didn't you hear ANY OF THEM?"

"I thought you liked owls," he said. Since the rest of that conversation is unprintable - formerly, I had no feelings either way about owls; now I'm a little less well inclined - I'll stop there. It's not the owls' fault. I just don't give a hoot, let alone two, about sounding like one.

Fortunately, the husband redeemed himself with his final present, a box of beauty products from L'Occitane, mainly because I dragged him into the shop recently and told him anything from there would do. Next year, however, we will be returning to the tried-and-tested formula of me buying what I want, him wrapping it and me feigning surprise on Christmas morning.

It's better than real surprises any day.