Shock and shame hit our household last week when a sex tape from lovefilm.com landed on our doormat.

There was no mistaking it; the words "sex" and "tape" were written in large red capitals all over it and naturally my immediate concern was how I was going to explain this to my teenage children and what would the postie think?

Surely such things should arrive in discreet brown paper wrappers?

Before you all rush off to report me to the Press Complains Commission, I can assure you the package contained nothing saucier than an episode of the 1985 BBC dramatisation of Dickens’ Bleak House and that the sex tape reference was evidently lovefilm.com’s idea of a promo for the film of that name, starring Cameron Diaz.

I know marketing departments likes to make an impression these days, but surely this is wrong.

I mean to say, some people might be rather disappointed to open a sex tape only to see Diana Rigg and Denholm Elliot respectively being very stiff upper-lipped in full length crinoline and high starched collar, mightn’t they?

At the time of writing, lovefilm.com has not yet responded to my complaint.

A sure sign of middle age is the thrill you get when the Lakeland or Scotts of Stow catalogues fall out of your Sunday paper.

My own secret pleasure is spending half an hour alone with a brochure of silicone "must-have" kitchen utensils and a cup of tea in an armchair.

All those gadgets for jobs you didn't know existed, that deep down you know you will never use after the first flush of enthusiasm has worn off, but which you want "right now" because you are convinced they will change your life.

Actually, some products might just do that, as anyone who struggles with clingfilm will testify.

You see, for every yard of the stuff I use to cover leftovers in the fridge, I must waste another yard getting it tangled around me, making me the perfect candidate for a "stainless steel roll holder" that will ingeniously guillotine my cling film every time.

Ooh, just reading the blurb reminds me of that rather breathy voice that tells you to be sure not to miss the Allied Carpet sale on the A3 this weekend.

However, rather worryingly, I have come to the conclusion that getting excited about beech-effect storage units - sorry, "storage solutions" - or graters that will transform my humble veg into perfect julienne strands, is not just a feature of middle years, but a sure sign of early dementia.

It’s bad enough when I fantasise about ordering a "timeless occasional table with elegantly turned legs", but when I start dreaming of buying a slip-on rubber spout that will turn a saucepan into a drip-free pouring jug, I really start to fear for my sanity.

Still on the subject of why we buy what we do, it used to annoy me when manufacturers put "serving suggestion" underneath a photo of a bowl of cereal and milk on the packet - as if we would think of doing anything else with our morning cornflakes.

Now however, thanks to Lakeland (yes, the same Lakeland of my guilty secret) I think I get it.

In their current catalogue for instance, Lakeland show a stunningly pretty picture of a piñata cake to promote their piñata cake pan.

For those of you who don’t have children who demand ever more original things to have at their birthday parties, a piñata is traditionally a brightly coloured paper figure in the shape of, say, a horse or a butterfly, which when violently whacked by small children at parties, breaks open to spill forth dozens of tiny toys or sweeties.

Now Lakeland is selling tins for baking piñata cakes, which are hollow inside and which, when sliced open, reveal all the goodies inside.

The only trouble is, the piñata cake they show is covered in ruffles of magnificent rainbow-coloured icing, decoration that doesn't come out of the tin, but which has to be painstakingly created by someone with far more dexterity with an icing-bag than I could hope to have in my wildest catalogue dreams - and not a "serving suggestion" in sight.

Conversely, surely it is superfluous to put "may contain nuts" on a packet of, er, nuts and downright stupid to put "not suitable for children" on a teddy bear aimed at, well, children.

Which brings me neatly to explain why I heartily disagree with my fellow columnist Adam Parsons’ assertion in last week’s paper that "real" shopping, as opposed to online shopping, is over-rated.

I won’t bore you with my support of small, independent shops, of the opportunities to bump into friends you haven’t seen for a while, or of the chance to try things on before you buy.

Or what about being able to scan the shelves of a real supermarket, where you get to read the scoff-inducing words "contains 20 servings" on cereal packets, which all self-respecting children see as a challenge?

And at least in a shop you are spared the positively impertinent advice from Sainsbury’s website that when you buy its loo paper, you are paying "14p per 100 sht".