How to create the perfect Christmas stocking

The special thing about stockings is that you can’t just throw money at them — it doesn’t work like that. A well-executed stocking requires thought. In particular it demands a keen sense of the absurd, the handy, the delicious and the kitsch. A subtle, good-taste stocking is a contradiction in terms. I learned all this from an expert — my mother, whose delight in finding ‘just the thing’ and appreciation of the ridiculous make her a master stocking-filler. She’s so good that she used to make one for my father, too. Every Christmas Eve my brother and I helped to pack our dad’s series of mysterious grown-up goodies: weird mustard, eye-masks, Raymond Chandler novels, whisky miniatures and sachets of Alka-Seltzer. Aged 10 and seven, we decided our mum shouldn’t be left out and had a go at making a stocking for her ourselves. Admittedly our first effort left something to be desired. Taramasalata featured (this was 1989) between some leaking bath pearls and a Greenpeace pen. But the thought counted. We’ve made her a stocking ever since, and now any guests staying for Christmas get one too.

The trouble is, I love the whole process so much I couldn’t stop when I left home. But even I can see there’s something weird about your mother creeping into your marital bedroom, so Santa duty has passed to my husband. Initially he took some persuading, even though he was going to get a stocking out of it himself. ‘But we already give each other loads of little things,’ was his totally-missing-the-point objection. Luckily he’s now converted and learning quickly. Last year he surpassed himself with a sit-up spatula for the OCD-inclined that doesn’t touch the kitchen work surface. He still looks blank when I mention chocolate sardines (google them, they’re a classic stocking filler) but there’s time.

Part of the joy of stockings is finessing your family’s formula, but if you’ve never made one before I’d say aim for approximately 15 gifts. Half of these should be bulking items: sweets, mini products pilfered from hotels, condiments, gloves, stationery, etc. Try to get an equal ratio of edibles to grooming products to techy things and so on, depending on your giftee’s tastes (foodies and beauty junkies are perfect for stockings). Then there should be a few star items — tickets to something if you’re feeling flash, a framed photo if you aren’t, anything from chocolatier Paul A Young, cycling accessories, etc. Above all, don’t neglect the ridiculous. Silly stuff is the whole point of stockings. Now is the time to buy the mobile phone deckchair holder, the civet cat poo coffee, the disposable rain poncho, the carrot sharpener. Also, every stocking should include a book: either a paperback by a favourite writer or a loo book (the Ladybird for Grown-Ups series works well).

The sequence of gifts is vital, too. As the stocking-stuffer you will drop the tangerine in first. Make sure the thing just before the tangerine is a star item. You want to end on a high, not a pair of Poundshop gloves or bar of soap (though both of these are totally acceptable halfway down). As you fill the stocking, try to stagger the edibles, the in-jokes, the wearables, etc. Most importantly, have something funny poking out of the top. A Donald Trump mask would do nicely here.

A final note: stocking presents should never be wrapped — the stocking is the wrapping. And before you go all Scrooge, a great stocking needn’t be expensive. If you choose well you can get the whole thing between Poundland, Tiger and any second-hand bookshop.

This year I will be stuffing more stockings than ever, playing Mother Christmas for my children, husband, parents and godfather — and I can’t wait. The only downside to this is that the best bit of the day will be over before it’s really begun.

‘Seven Days of Us’ by Francesca Hornak (£12.99, Penguin Random House)