‘Why are there so many adverts for perfume at the moment?’ asked my 11-year-old son as we watched TV together. Tempted as I was to tell him it was because people were more smelly in the winter, I erred on the side of truth and we talked instead about presents and Christmas.

I don’t think the Wise Men really knew what they were starting when they rocked up to the crib with Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, but clearly the good merchants of Bethlehem saw the business opportunities, leapt on the commercial bandwagon and lo, Christmas gift-giving was born.

Most children believe in a mysterious Christmas present-bringer: St. Nicholas, Santa Claus or Father Christmas are popular, although German children believe it’s the Christkind, Spanish youngsters, the Wise Men, and in Italy good little boys and girls believe it is an old lady called Befana.

The reality is that it’s more likely to be Marks & Spencer, John Lewis or - if you’ve been very good - Harvey Nicholls who will provide the gifts with money that many parents will have to borrow to fund the average family spend of £800. A quarter of parents blame families for putting them under pressure, another quarter blame TV for setting high expectations that they will struggle to meet.

I have a 1935 first edition of a William book by Richmal Crompton (a weakness of mine) inscribed ‘Christmas 1925 to Jean with all our love, from Mummy and Daddy’. I’m not sure that many children today would be impressed with just a book from their parents.

Giving gifts at Christmas is a monster that has grown out of control – a high expression of rampant consumerism. What began as a token of love and affection has become an onerous obligation where the cost of the gift has become a measure of the calibre of the recipient. The expensive Christmas adverts epitomise what giving has become: the values of generosity, love, affection and appreciation have become commodified. If you want to show someone they’re special, you buy them an exclusive, top-end product that costs very little to produce but has become overlaid with value and ascribed meaning. You and they become no different from anybody else.

It’s one thing recognising that you are on a treadmill that is destructive, exhausting and expensive, it’s quite another finding a way off that doesn’t cause offence; that is expressive of your feelings but doesn’t feed the insatiable Commercial Ghost of Christmas Present.

A friend of mine locks herself away in her kitchen for a weekend – pickling, preserving and mixing – producing edible gifts that are genuine expressions of herself and her desire to give something of herself to those she loves. Food for thought, maybe?