Many readers may be aware that the celebration of Christmas was abolished in 1644, and that the Puritans made it illegal to eat mince pies and Christmas pudding, which they declared was a heathen practice. But few will know that it is still against the law to eat those wicked delicacies on Christmas Day. Nothing to worry about though, like a lot of our laws, it's never enforced.

These days, Christmas is a time when many of us spend, and eat and drink far more than is good for our bank balances, and our bodies.

But this year is to be different for Jean and I. For one of the decisions taken at our Christmas planning meeting, was that we wouldn't be sending our family any large, painstakingly wrapped parcels, which cost almost as much to post as the contents were worth. Instead, we'll send them cheques or gift vouchers.

As we anticipated, my busy farming daughter in Wales objected; she wanted the special brandy and sherry fortified fruitcake that Jean makes for her family every Christmas. In previous years it has been included in a parcel of presents, which almost fills a Welsh postal van. The cost of sending it was high, but in relation to its contents, not disproportionately so.

However, this year, the cake, wrapped in foil, was to be sent on its own, in a stout home-made cardboard box, sealed with that awkward brown sticky tape, that you need hands as sure as those of a brain surgeon to manipulate.

"That'll be six pounds, thirty", said the post office clerk, after weighing the parcel. I gulped in disbelief, paid up, and replied: "My wife won't be pleased to learn that her cake was found to be so heavy."

Sunday afternoon, Christmas forgotten, and we were engaged in a Scrabble session, when Jean's eldest daughter and her husband - recently moved from Oxfordshire to a village near York - made a surprise visit. Frances's eyes lit up when she saw our Scrabble De Luxe, with its revolving board, letter tile grid and timer. "That's what we want, Bob." Bob agreed. "Then that's what you'll get for Christmas," I promised; "we won't need to post it."

My search started with Argos and Index. They only had the original Scrabble. I spent half the morning ringing W.H. Smith, Boots, Fenwick, Londons and Toys'R'us - who left me hanging on for ten minutes of Greensleeves - but the only answer I got from all of them was: "Sorry, we don't stock Scrabble De Luxe."

Jean joined the hunt and rang Dougie, Radio York's Action Line man. He broadcast an appeal, tried several shops himself, and suggested we ring BigSave.com, or ABG, Scrabble distributors. BigSave.com were of little help. I rang ABG and asked to speak to someone in Sales. I was left waiting through most of the One O'clock News. When a woman finally answered, I explained what I wanted.

She asked: "Are you in the trade?"

"No", I replied, "I'm a customer, who wants to know where to buy a Scrabble set."

"We can't sell them to you; you'll have to try your local shops," was her extraordinary answer.

"Don't you want to sell them?" I asked - beginning to think it would be easier to get hold of a Sony Play Station II. "Of course, we do, but I can't tell you where to buy them!"

Not wishing to be rude, I didn't reply.

Inspired, I sent a fax to Mark Nyman and Damian Eadie, Scrabble champs and Countdown producers; if anyone knows where to get the best Scrabble, they should. Damian rang me the following day with the Mattel Scrabble help-line address. I flashed an e-mail off, and within minutes a reply promised early delivery of the game.

Which just goes to show, whatever you'd like for Christmas, if you ask the right Santa Claus, you'll get what you want.