I feared my husband would divorce me after my big Christmas mistake

Christmas Day holds so many joys; the house buzzing with the excitement of the children, the rich smell of turkey and all its trimmings, and the glow of all the family being together.

But for me it holds a more stressful element, too. For after the Christmas pudding has been served it's time for presents – and while receiving them is a treat, I'm hopeless at giving them.

I dread watching a look of, at best, feigned happiness and, at worst, utter disappointment coming across the faces of my loved ones as they unwrap the gifts bearing the tag 'Love Marina'.

Because while buying someone a 'good' gift might seem easy, I've come to realise that giving good presents – ones that show how much you love and understand them – is something that some have a talent for and others, like me, lack, despite our best efforts.

It doesn't help matters that Ben, my darling husband of 20 years, is an excellent gift giver.

Our first Christmas together was a prize example of me getting it wrong. We'd just moved into our first house and there were so many practical things we needed. So I spent an afternoon in John Lewis getting all my ­gifting sorted and emerged very pleased with myself.

I felt less pleased when I saw my new husband's face as he opened a set of house phones (portable with answering machine), a doormat and a loo roll holder. His disappointment was palpable, and I wonder whether he was secretly wondering how long our marriage would last.

He had bought me an antique ring, with three small emeralds signifying him and our beloved dogs, Maggi and Inca. Right, I thought, must do better.

But I haven't. The jumpers I've given him since have never been worn, the wicker picnic basket sat on the top of the fridge for 15 years until I donated it to a jumble sale last year, and the walking stick I thought would accompany him like an old friend on his travels ended up as kindling.

By contrast, he always seems to find something perfect, such as a Ralph Lauren dress I'd never have bought for myself and a pair of leather-lined Le ­Chameau wellies that keep my feet warm and dry all winter.

And it's not just him I struggle to buy for. The cashmere snoods I bought for my sisters, which Instagram assured me were the coolest must-have winter accessory, have never been worn because – with the honesty that only siblings can share – I was told they made them look like nuns.

I even gave my brother-in-law the same set of vintage kitchen jars three years in a row, for the simple reason that I forgot – two years running – that I'd already given them to him. It's now become a standing joke, and he'll find the same set of jars sitting under the tree waiting for him this year, too.

My children have cleverly observed my hopeless present-giving and now send me carefully curated lists that include direct links to what they'd like. I've learnt the hard way that it's not worth going 'off piste' with them.

In my defence, I think my and Ben's different present-giving abilities were forged in our own childhoods.

Ben comes from a family of intuitively good gift givers. They all gather together, giving each other rare little antiques that they've stumbled upon in an Amsterdam flea market.

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I come from a family of ­practical present-givers. About ten years ago I bumped into my father out Christmas ­shopping and he proudly showed me the vacuum cleaner he was giving my mother.

I tried to ­intervene, worrying that this level of utilitarian gifting might result in the breakdown of their then 40-year ­marriage, and forced him to buy her some cashmere instead. But when, a few days later, we gathered around the Christmas tree for presents, my mother unwrapped her cashmere scarf before delicately placing it to one side with a perfunctory 'thank you'.

However, when – a few hours later, despite my protestations – the badly wrapped vacuum cleaner came out, my mother shrieked with joy, exclaiming 'It's not... the Dyson V8 Animal, is it?!', hugged my father and both of them immediately set about putting it together.

So perhaps there's no 'right' kind of presents. Maybe, like parenting, we should strive for being good enough. Perhaps the best kind of gifts are those that make ­people laugh.

One of our biggest family ­successes growing up was the novelty fish, Big Mouth Billy Bass, which had us in stitches every time he started singing.

That said, I have had some, admittedly rare, successes too. A painting I had commissioned of Ben's dog Inca shortly before she died hangs proudly in our house, a reminder of her but also, for me, that I don't always fail.

And with that I'll set about wrapping up the bread knife I've got for Ben this year – another present he's probably going to hate.