During the past year have metamorphosed from someone who wafts around to some sort of worker bee.

From looking glamorous (sequinned cardigan), smelling nice (Clinique Happy) and eating chocolate (Belgian handmade) to someone who spends most of her time hunched over computer (lakes and mountains screensaver), making occasional forays to kitchen (15cm non-stick saucepan) before returning to become frustrated with equipment in former boot cupboard, now office (new printer) and make phone calls (grassy mobile phone cover).

All the items in brackets refer to Christmas presents, the former from last year, the latter this, which goes to show that although there are numerous advantages to working from home, the big disadvantage is that the people in your home start viewing you as a stress-laden, tetchy colleague rather than an easy-going, relaxed and lovely wife and mother.

(When I voiced this, Thomas said I had never been particularly relaxed or easy-going while the Rugrats, trying to be nice, said I was like a beautiful, cross Barbie.)

Only the relative formerly known as Mother (now known as Granny) came up trumps with a hand-spun, Mongolian yeti hair (or something equally rare) dressing gown and a bath oil that must be used sparingly because it is of the costs-a-£100-a-millilitre variety.

The relative formerly known as Mother obviously appreciates the old adage "When the going gets tough, the tough have a nice, long bath".

Her thoughtfulness was only slightly marred by fact a) Thomas went down with bout of achy flu and claimed the only thing that alleviated the symptoms was the £100-a-millilitre bath oil and b) Thomas received wall-mounted shaving mirror for Christmas that he has fitted over bath in position which means I cannot enjoy what's left of £100-a-millilitre bath oil without being forced to view reflection of post-Rugrat stomach.

Anyway, Thomas, though delighted with £100-a-millilitre bottle of vintage single malt whiskey and voucher entitling him to drive a Ferrari around Goodwood racetrack, obviously secretly coveted my work-related presents.

The wrapping was barely off before he was fitting the grassy phone cover and making his way to office to install the lakes and mountains screensaver.

As luck would have it, not only was the screensaver not a voucher for a full day's rest and relaxation at the Grand hotel's health suite, it was also not suited to the ancient software on my ancient computer.

After briefly bringing up a picture of the Austrian Tyrol, it whirred and spluttered before turning black. No amount of coaxing would bring it back to life.

"Have you still got the number of that Macdoctor fellow? asked Thomas, not knowing that only last week I' d been told how nice I looked by the George Clooney lookalike Macdoctor after ancient computer had conspired to get her invited to Sara's office party for people who work at home.

I called him and told him about the lakes and mountains screensaver problem and he promised to come round and take a look.

"Actually, I was going to call you anyway," he added. "I've got a small present for you."

My delight was short-lived when, having given computer kiss of life (while I imagined it was me) he produced a small, nicely wrapped present which, on opening, turned out to be a book entitled How Macs Work - A Guide For Total Beginners.