No, I didn't get what I wanted for Christmas - but I'm not complaining.

I didn't expect I would, considering mother's reaction when I told her what I would really like to find in my stocking this year.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she said after she had asked me - sometime in November - what I would fancy and I had told her.

Anyone would have thought I'd requested something like a rich husband or breast implants.

All I had said was that I would love to have one of those little foldaway metallic scooters.

And I really would. As a child, the best Christmas present I was ever given was a scooter. I loved it to pieces, quite literally, because one day I crashed into a wall and the frame buckled and the front wheel came off.

Nowadays, I can just imagine scooting along Brighton seafront in the winter months, when visitors are thin on the ground, with a vast expanse of pavement all to myself.

Mother, of course, thought I was winding her up (would I?) and subsequently continued to ask me what gift I would like. And every time she asked, I told her. I wanted a scooter.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because you're a middle-aged woman and you would look stupid," she replied, not once but several times.

I told her veteran-movie actor Kirk Douglas, now in his 80s, rode one.

"Silly old fool," she said dismissively. This from a woman of 80 who has long had ambitions to go hang-gliding.

So I mentioned other scooter devotees: Sir Richard Branson, Robbie Williams, Kylie Minogue, Prince Harry. But mother was having none of it.

"If you get one, you can buy it yourself and I will definitely not be seen in public with you riding it", she announced.

So the next time she asked me for a gift suggestion, I came up with something I thought she would find irresistible, one of those robotic dogs that wag their tails, bark and totter along on little plastic legs.

"Why on earth do you want one of those things when we have a real dog?" she asked, quite fiercely I thought.

"Because it doesn't need to go walkies every couple of hours, doesn't shed its fur, doesn't need feeding and produces no end-products", I said.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "Now be serious. What do you really want for Christmas?"

"Anything, anything at all," I replied. "Slippers, long-sleeved nightie, talcum powder, hot-water-bottle cover, bowl of hyacinths ... the usual gifts middle-aged women appreciate and deserve."

Looking at her face, I saw that I was now in with a chance. "What colour hyacinths?" she asked.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," I replied.

A couple of weeks before Christmas I turned the tables on mother.

"Tell me what you'd really like for a present this year", I said.

"Well, I don't want thermal vests or chocolates again", she said. "You only get the chocolates to eat yourself when you think I won't notice.

"No, what I'd really like is a ride in a hot-air balloon or a trip in a micro-light plane."

"Don't be ridiculous", I said. "We'll get each other gift vouchers from Marks and Spencer, just like we do every Christmas."

Next year I'm cutting out the middleman and sending my gift list direct to Santa.