Pooling anecdotes with my friends and relatives, I have unearthed a story of one California family who have a ritual with ‘Father Christmas’ and ‘Mother Chanukah’  - two friends dress up as these characters then arrive at the family home in a horse-drawn cart.

Then there are the Boston parents who decorate their Christmas tree with bright glittery dreidle- and menorah-shaped baubles, the New York café that serves a turkey and latke sandwich special, and, (and I promise you this is true) the family that have translated some Christmas carols into Hebrew.

In England Chanukah seems to be a far more low key affair and I’ve heard of very few attempts to blend it with Christmas. A friend introduced a Chanukah bush in her home one year; a limp, knee-high thing that moped around in a corner, decorated with Chocolate money. It got a very unenthusiastic reception from visitors, and when the dog knocked it over while attempting to eat the chocolate money, no one bothered to stand it up again.

Growing up my main complaint about Chanukah, which was the same one every Jewish child in north west London had, was that the presents weren’t that good compared to what people got for Christmas. For some reason the ruling in my family was that Chanukah presents were, by tradition, useful presents. I never learnt the origin of this. In the run up to the festival I made sure I made sure I didn’t buy myself hairbrushes, hair bands, stationary sets, diaries, or socks. Not even I saw that travel plug coming.