After last year's tussle over who was cooking the turkey - won, in case you have forgotten, by my mother - I was anxious to get this year's Christmas arrangements right.

I didn't want to upset anyone but somehow or other it all went horribly wrong again. My mother believed we were going to theirs for Christmas Day. My husband had it in his head that we were staying at home.

I had a horrible moment last week when, during a routine phone chat, my mum mentioned she had ordered the turkey, made the pudding and would be expecting us late morning on Wednesday.

Just an hour earlier, my husband had been saying to me how pleased he would be if we could spend the day in Brighton with just our children.

"Ahh ..." I said to my mum. "Actually, we were thinking of staying here for Christmas - but you would be more than welcome to come to us."

There was a stony silence. Eventually, my mother spoke. "I thought we had agreed that you were coming here," she said.

"I've been looking forward to seeing the little ones and I think you need a rest this year. I'd like to do it for you."

Oh dear. What had I promised? I remembered saying something about going to their house if my husband was working on Christmas Day.

But we had only just been given his rota and we had learned that he was off for December 24 and 25 but working on Boxing Day.

The only way to resolve this, I decided, was to let my husband and my mother battle it out.

So I handed him the phone while I slunk off to soak in the bath.

Five minutes later my husband came to find me.

"Is it sorted?" I asked.

"Well, I've put forward my case," said my husband. "But we'll probably give in to your mother ... because we always do.

"I mean, wouldn't you like it to be just you, me and the kids on Christmas Day?"

"I want whatever makes everyone happy," I said. "But since we can't agree, someone is going to get upset."

I had a sleepless night worrying about what to do for the best.

I didn't particularly want to cook for a mass of people this year and certainly going to Crayford was an easy option.

But it was also appealing to just enjoy Christmas in our own home.

The next morning my friend Karen gave me some sensible advice.

She suggested we compromise by having Christmas Day to ourselves, but going to my parents' on Boxing Day. This would give me and the children something to do while my husband was at work.

"It sounds great in theory," I said. "But I'm not sure how it will wash with my parents. I may be 40 years old, but I still can't stand up to them."

Well, a sympathetic angel must have taken up my cause, because later in the day my mum rang back and suggested the same plan that Karen had proposed.

Of course, I agreed to it and was so full of Christmas cheer that I lost control of my senses and offered to bake something to bring along.

"Don't start that again," said my mother. "Let's just keep it nice and simple."