Susan Morrison: Present Traumatic Stress Disorder – the latest seasonal affliction

Santa Claus - these days most kids know those gifts in their stockings were put there by Mum and Dad

It can afflict sufferers at any time but we see it most when the tinsel appears, that hidden stress of buying, giving and, yes, even receiving the presents at Christmas time.

Hunting, buying and giving Christmas presents can be almost traumatic, especially the women shopping for the men in their lives.

Even more so if he’s been in your life for quite a while, and comes from Yorkshire.

At one point, I hit on the idea of ‘experiences’. He got to drive a train at one point. I did think it odd that I was buying a day of what had basically once been a workers life. You don’t see them advertising a ‘Day Down The Mines’, do you?

Perhaps in the future we can have ‘Experience Working In A 20th Century Office’ where you get to go in, hang up your coat, make coffee and bitch about her in accounts for an hour before doing a bit of filing. It’s what I did.

Anyway, he learned how to handle a steam locomotive. ScotRail might like to keep his number in reserve.

Sadly, the last ‘experience’ was not as happy as it could have been. A narrowboat on the Rochdale canal. The crew threatened mutiny. That would be me. Experiences were off the table.

Eventually, sufferers crack under the pressure of the endless second-guessing and wearily say ‘this’ll do’.

Then the giving-related stress kicks in. Will he really like a little machine that prints initials onto a golf ball? Hang on. Does he play golf?

Present Trauma Stress Disorder can really get out of control on Christmas morning. Sufferers stare covertly at recipients faces as the wrapping paper flies, waiting for that flash of a smile. Present-choosing mission accomplished.

That’s why buying gifts for babies is so satisfying. They love everything. To be honest, most little ones would be perfectly happy with the paper and a cardboard box.

That generally doesn’t do for the teens, who will always look moodily at what you’ve got them, even if it has enough computing power to hack NASA.

And then we must face our own stash of goodies. I was traumatised many years ago. It was our first Christmas. We lived in a tiny flat in Stockbridge. It was essentially a cupboard with a view.

He bought me a pair of Afghan slipper socks. They were all the rage back in the 80s, knitted out of what they called ‘raw wool’ by grave looking Afghan ladies. There was a photo of them on the packaging. Presumably they look even graver now.

Their knitting skills were magnificent. The socks were very colourful. The untreated wool also stank to high heaven.

The flat was so small, we had to leave them outside the front door, where I thought they would be perfectly safe.

I hadn’t reckoned on one neighbour's Jack Russell who clocked the scent, mistook it for a rat and took off with them at high speed.

Seeing your Christmas present savaged in Stockbridge would traumatise anyone.

I hope I suffered my PTSD alone this year and that you all had a lovely day, and even lovelier gifts.