There's this shop in the heart of Broadmead which I find myself drawn to increasingly. I won't mention it's name, save to say it sells the sort of things you won't find anywhere else in the city's shopping centre.

Outwardly, to all intents and purposes, this retail emporium is a 21st-century version of an ironmongers. But its attraction, for me, goes far deeper than that.

You see, it's packed full of domestic gadgets and gizmos, the sort of things you never realised you wanted until you stepped across its threshold. And I am an absolute sucker for them.

Just before Christmas, for example, I was wandering through and chanced upon a clever device which, at a stroke, I reasoned, would eliminate one of the big festive hang-ups in our house – switching the Christmas tree lights on and off.

Up for grabs at under a tenner was this hi-tech piece of magic which was like a mini-version of a TV remote control. Once set up you could, it said, use its infra-red light beam to turn switches on and off all over the place.

I had to have one and, although at first sceptical, I did convince Mrs D it was worth her while crawling on hands and knees around the back of the festooned tree to insert part of this new gadget into a tree's power socket.

She wasn't happy, of course, but, as she carefully removed the pine needles that had penetrated her skin, she had to grudgingly admit here was a job well done, as our new gadget flicked the Christmas tree lights on and off from our settee, where I was lounging. It did all the other lamps and hi-fi in the room, too.

Now, this same shop sells all manner of bits and pieces, each of which claim to make life easier for those who also spend large chunks of their day in the kitchen. People like me. For, when I get home and have switched on the telly, audio and table lamps with my natty gadget, my mind turns to culinary matters. I like nothing better than popping on a chef's apron and conjuring up a gourmet feast for my beloved or anyone willing to submit to devouring my catering.

As a consequence, it is kitchen aids which have become my real addiction.

For Christmas, a close friend looked aghast when, on enquiring if there was anything I really wanted – CD, DVD, that sort of thing – I asked for a veggie slicer.

Her concern was prompted by the fact that on my birthday a few months earlier, I had asked her for an electric spice grinder.

Before that she had purchased some wonderful non-stick linings for my roasting trays, measuring spoons, and a reading rack for my cookery books.

You will note that it is a friend who purchases these gifts for me, not my wife. She just shrugs her shoulders and enquires despairingly "Where are YOU going to store that?" with each new acquisition.

This is a withering reference to (and criticism of) the fact that our kitchen is, compared to most, rather bijou.

Still, she can't point the accusing finger over my veggie slicer. It folds flat. And I love it.

Ever since Boxing Day, at every available opportunity, I have used it to slice fruit and vegetables. Wafer thin or super-thick, I'm your man. So enthusiastic a slicer have I become that close family members have petitioned for a chance to eat a "proper" peeled potato just once a week.

I turn a deaf ear and keep on slicing...

And then, this week, out of the blue, a marvellous publication thudded on the doormat. It was a catalogue from a kitchen gadgets company (my Christmas slicer was featured in there!) containing a cornucopia of culinary wonders. My wife won't believe that its arrival was completely unsolicited but I've been engrossed in its pages.

How, I ask myself, have we ever been able to live without possessing a "tea tool" ("Press the plunger to squeeze the tea bag, then easily transfer it to the bin"), so much better than using your fingers.

And we have all, surely, suffered grief and anguish about the lack of a pineapple peeler, a mango splitter, and a strawberry huller?

Best of all, though, was the catalogue presence of a special plastic knife whose sole use was limited to slicing lettuce.

Now that's a real "must have" as far as I'm concerned.