Birmingham Post

But middle age, and a new affiliation with the joys of lower back pain, persuaded me that the time was right for a more holistic approach to the coming festivities. I decided to go under the acupuncturist's needle.

I have tried ancient Chinese medicine in the past. The results were positive, if unspectacular, but I was then in such an dark place that the administration of class A drugs would have had negligible impact.

A reinvigorated outlook, and my bruised tailbone, took me back to the acupuncturist. I did so after consulting my GP. I told her about my coccyx (which must hold the title of the world's most ridiculously spelt word), she ran some tests and concluded that, turkey-like, I was stuffed. The needles, or a floatation tank, were my last hope.

So there I was, entrusting my lower spine, not to mention my upper bum cheeks, to the healing hands and expertise of Wendy.

Apparently, there is an area somewhere between the scrotum and rectum where a needle can be placed in order to alleviate coccyx pain. I think the access point was raised for information purposes rather than a suggestion for a treatment programme. In any case, we settled for a needle to the lower back.

Then things got weird.

Wendy said she had an intern, Laura, shadowing her. Would I mind if she sat in? I was more than happy to further Laura's study of my chi (energy flows) and meridians (the channels of the body through which chi should flow). After all, it was Christmas - the more the merrier.

So, I found myself lying on a couch, my shirt and winter vest removed, flashing my nipples like a tart, as Wendy and Laura lined up on opposite sides of the table, holding my tremulous hands. My therapists then endeavoured to track down my chi and identify why it appeared to be charging through my body with the measured elegance of a one-legged chicken.

The talk, inevitably, turned to Christmas, and the buying of presents; and, crucially, the buying of presents for one's wife. It is a position I have never found myself in before, being stripped half-naked, lying horizontal and holding the hands of two women I barely know, engaging in relaxed conversation as if this was something we met up to do every week, like going to a whist drive or an embroidery class.

For the price of an hour's acupuncture treatment, I had some extremely useful personal shopping advice thrown in by my spiritual healers.

Laura's top tip was "avoid anything electronic, anything that could be described as a household appliance."

Similarly, a gift likely to elicit the response, "That will come in really useful" meant Christmas goodwill was at risk of flatlining.

Laura put forward the idea of "smellies" but said my suggestion of Impulse bodyspray wasn't what she had in mind.

Wendy got me thinking when she said: "Red leather gloves." Umm, kinky.

Wendy reckons women love leather gloves - her personal preference is for red - but they never get round to buying them. Like men and Ferraris.

"So what have you thought of getting her, Richard?" asked Wendy.

I thought hard. "Err ... rollerskates? Do you think she's too old?"

There was general agreement among the therapists that yes, quite possibly, I had missed the boat on the rollerskates.

"A whip?" I added. "Oooo, Richard!"

Oddly, they thought I was kidding. Red leather gloves, rollerskates and a whip, on Christmas morning. As a set, it works for me, the antithesis of the shirt-and-tie-in-a-box gift set.

Moreover, such a present could never be described as "useful."

After all this discussion, my chi was back from the dead, pulsating around my meridians like a wild thing. But the more my heart said rollerskates, the more my mind said bath salts.

At least Wendy and Laura stopped me thinking about my coccyx. And that may be the best Christmas present I've ever had.