I sometimes wonder if I am the only person who genuinely enjoys Christmas shopping when I hear my friends moaning and groaning about what to buy.

Mind you, I plan it like a military exercise. I set traps for the unwary among my friends who, sweet souls that they are, ask if there is anything they can do for me.

My innocent reply is usually something along the lines of: "Well I was thinking of doing a little shopping in Churchill Square if you were planning to go in that direction."

They are too polite to back out at that stage and I know that if I don't get it all done today, there will be another hapless soul ready and waiting tomorrow.

This year, however, I met my match.

I went with a very organised friend and was moved swiftly from shop to shop, having been warned I should have a list of likely purchases and a time limit on window shopping.

Luckily though, we still had time for coffee and cream cakes so I wasn't too upset by the unseemly rush. And I can always blame her for the extra inches.

But it set me thinking about those busy people, our politicians at the heart of government, and what they might have received in their stocking, or more likely their pillow cases, this festive season.

Take Jolly John Prescott for example. I did think about a Hornby train set for him to play with but looking at the state of the real railways I was afraid he might smash it up by Boxing Day. So I decided a skateboard would be safer until he learns how to manage his transport problems.

Then there is Teflon Tony, whose surface has been badly roughed up recently with wire wool from the news wire services. My mother always believed iodine (neat) could cure anything, never mind the stinging, so a first aid outfit might be just the thing for him.

A relative newcomer to the exchange of Christmas goodies is Iain Duncan Smith. What to get this quiet, sober gentleman could be a bit of a brain teaser but then I thought of a whoopee cushion to bring a smile to his troubled brow. Even if he didn't see the joke, I'm sure some of his colleagues would and the sober affairs of Parliament would be momentarily interrupted.

The other gift idea I had for him was a pair of George Robey eyebrows, which would enable his own rather overworked ones a welcome break.

A welcome break is what we would all like from the Chancellor, Gordon Brown, and his taxes so perhaps a rocking horse would do for him. Then he could either fall off and have a spell in an underfunded NHS hospital or play with the beads on his new counting frame as he thinks up a few ways to skin us alive.

To be even-handed, we ought to include some of the ladies and the one at the top of the list seems to be the head girl to end all head girls, Margaret Beckett. She should be happy with a box of hankies and some perfume to mask that bad smell which is apparently always under her nose.

And then there is feisty Clare Short, for whom a pair of boxing gloves might be ideal. She is never willing to give up a cause without a real fight and, after all, girls in the boxing ring is not unusual in these days of politically correct behaviour.

My list is getting rather long but there is one more name I ought to include.

That is our own Hove MP Ivor Caplin who, someone whispered to me the other day, had been given a whip. If this is true, and not just idle gossip, I wonder who he will try it out on first.

Please Ivor, not me - why not try David Lepper!

I'll still wish you a Happy New Year.