I happened to run into Father Christmas on my way into Morrisons yesterday. He was doing his usual pre-Christmas charitable collection so I gave him some money, and asked if I could have a wish. He replied that he would do his best, so I said that what I would really like was Colin Firth and Hugh Grant fighting in the street over me.

I don't hold out much hope. A good few years ago I spotted him delivering cards and asked for Timothy Dalton in my stocking. Previously I had mentioned that Brian Murray wouldn't come amiss, and subsequently a sopping wet Colin Firth has been mentioned. The common factor isn't hard to miss.

So far not one of them has materialised on Christmas morning.

However, I notice a disturbing factor: the fancies of my teenage years were the stars of already ancient black and white films many of them gentlemen of my grandparents' generation, but over the years they have become younger and are now my juniors.

I can imagine what Jess (who does a very good Catherine Tate) would say.