In four months' time I shall be 40. As I haven't yet started to plan any sort of celebration, my husband asked me if I would like a surprise party.

"Surely that's the sort of thing you should be keeping a secret," I said.

"Usually," he replied. "But I know you don't like surprises, so I thought I'd prepare you in advance. At least you can try looking surprised."

It's true that I don't like things being sprung on me. I was the child who always hunted out the Christmas presents my parents had bought me before the unwrapping ceremony so that I could practice showing my delight - even if I didn't feel so thrilled with getting a sensible jumper rather than the ridiculous ra-ra skirt I'd asked for.

I would have found out the sex of our unborn children if my husband hadn't been so keen to wait until the miracle of birth rather than rely on the miracle of ultrasound.

But anyway, back to surprise parties - of which I have been to a few.

Of course, anyone who's about to reach a landmark age and has specifically asked for "no fuss" is setting themselves up for it.

I've hidden in several kitchens, bathrooms, back gardens and pub toilets with other secret revellers and have jumped out on cue to sing "happy birthday" to the unsuspecting.

Most people accept these things with good grace. They don't seem to mind that their friends and loved-ones have gone against their wishes.

It doesn't even bother them that the quiet and romantic dinner date they had been promised ends up being a drunken all-nighter with a raucous crowd.

If the party is held at their home, of course they'll then have to spend most of the next day clearing up debris and applying Vanish to the red wine stains.

And there is always the danger that things don't go quite according to plan. One of the most embarrassing surprise parties I have been to was one to celebrate a friend's 30th.

As we all leapt out of his bedroom to wish him all the best, he looked rather more shocked than we'd anticipated.

Not only had we got the date wrong by a month, we had also got the wrong year. He was only going to be 29.

We ended up having a good time but it took some of the fizz out of the party and no one could face organising another surprise for him the following year.

One of the least enjoyable surprise birthdays I was involved in was a 15-mile jaunt around the Isle of Wight.

It was for a boyfriend I had at the time who came from a family of hikers. His parents thought this would be the best present ever for their son. And in many ways it was.

I seemed to be the only member of the party not enjoying marching across muddy fields on a wet day in February.

The boyfriend and his happy hiking brothers and sisters and their respective spouses were having such a jolly time they were regretting that we hadn't planned to camp overnight and do another 15-mile walk the next day.

Rather than run the risk of anything unexpected, I think I'll tell my husband I don't mind him organising a surprise party as long as it's held in someone else's house.

While he's about it, he can also book a surprise weekend in Paris and buy me a surprise very expensive item of jewellery involving gold and diamonds. There ... that's sorted.