Oh, the misery of Christmas with my husband’s parents!

This year, my husband, two little girls and I are heading to my in-laws for Christmas.

You may think that, despite some perhaps inevitable frictions, I’d be looking forward to festivities that I wasn’t responsible for, with no cooking, cleaning or preparing to do.

But my goodness, I’d slave for months if it meant not having to endure the mediocre Christmas my husband’s family lay on.

From awful food to sloppy clothing – not to mention the rudeness of his relatives – the alternate years that we spend at his parents’ house leave me feeling, at best, disappointed and joyless and, at worst, utterly miserable.

My experience will be familiar to anyone who has ever despaired at forgoing the comforting routines of how their own family do Christmas and being forced to follow the traditions of another clan.

We’re all inclined to believe that our own ways are best and many of my friends also despair at those years they have to celebrate with the “other” grandparents.

But I doubt any of them have ever had to endure a Christmas that’s so diametrically opposed to the one they grew up with as me.

The first Christmas I spent with my now-husband James’s family 16 years ago reduced me to tears.

I’d just turned 21 and the festive season for me had always been synonymous with glamour, sparkle and convivial cheer.

In my family, around 30 of us – siblings, grandparents, aunts and cousins – gather round the table at a special hotel or country pub close to where I grew up in Harrogate.

We never celebrated it at home.

Bucks Fizz or Kir Royale (with real Champagne of course) is served before we sit down to a four-course lunch.

Woe betide anyone not wearing their best bib and tucker.

I always shop for a classy sparkly dress and heels for the occasion.

Jeans are a total no-no and as for a nasty novelty jumper? My grandmother would have a heart attack.

Over lunch, gifts are exchanged, with everything tastefully wrapped.

We don’t go in for mountains of cheap tat; it’s all about choosing thoughtfully so everyone has a couple of special things to open.

One year I received a Pandora bracelet, another I was wowed by a Tiffany necklace from my aunt.

Now let me paint you a picture of my first Christmas with James.

You may think I’m a terrible snob for hating my in-laws’ Christmas.

We’d been dating for almost two years, so we decided it was time to start dividing our time between our respective families.

We chose to go to his first because my dad, a doctor, was working over the festive period.

It was the first time I’d met James’ extended family and I was eager to make a good impression.

He’d chirped enthusiastically about how much fun his family Christmases were. It would be a big gathering with lots of relatives, just like I was used to.

But, he said, as there were no young children in the mix, there would be plenty of alcohol and a cherished tradition was karaoke after lunch.

I gulped in horror, imagining hordes of inebriated uncles murdering Mariah Carey.

It didn’t give me much to look forward to.

My fears were further confirmed when I’d asked James about the dress code, only to be met with a blank stare.

I decided to go full glam, as I normally would.

Friends who spent Christmas at home rather than going out, like we do, said they always dress up – why should this be different?

How wrong I was.

My mother-in-law cruelly burst out laughing at the sight of my festive red velvet dress, quipping: “Where are you off to dressed like that?”

I stuck out like a sore thumb, with everyone else sporting nasty polyester Christmas jumpers.

I was still taking in the sight of grown adults dressed so badly when the turkey was plonked on the dining table.

Where were the glasses of fizz, the canapes, the mingling chatter?

James’s mum proudly announced that she’d cooked everything the night before “to make it easier”.

To make it tasteless, more like.

Dry meat, sludgy veg and hard roast potatoes stared up at me from the scratched plate (no festive china here).

There wasn’t even any cranberry sauce.

Dessert had gone AWOL with the starters.

Apparently they’re always “too full” for pudding, so they don’t bother.

I was almost in tears by the time conversation turned to how my family spent Christmas Day.

I was met with scoffs and ridicule, with James’s relatives baldly accusing us of being selfish for “making” waiting staff and chefs work on Christmas Day.

I felt like saying: “If their family Christmas is anything like yours, no wonder they don’t mind missing it!”

As soon as the meal was finished and the karaoke was warbled through, they all fell asleep on various sofas while I was left sitting alone.

Where was the afternoon walk, the charades, even a Christmas quiz?

As for gifts, apparently unless you’re a child they’re as unnecessary as a dessert and won’t be appreciated.

I learnt that the hard way when my gifts for his parents and grandparents were sniffed at and tossed to one side.

This was 16 years ago but the whole sorry day has barely changed since.

Since we had our own children, now aged three and 18 months, I’ve been negotiating with my mother-in-law on puddings.

She’s resistant, claiming it’s “pointless”, but this year has permitted me to bring a Christmas pudding... my least favourite dessert.

I’ll make James wear a shirt and I’ll dress up as always and not give two hoots about the sniggers from his relatives.

You may think I’m a terrible snob for hating my in-laws’ Christmas.

My husband, for his part, hates Christmas with my family.

He thinks having your Christmas dinner cooked for you by a team of restaurant staff is pretentious, so at least we alternate with our suffering.

Perhaps we’re all doomed to endure festivities that are our idea of hell once we couple up.

However, we’re beginning to make noises about breaking rank and hosting future festivities, so that our children can really enjoy the magic in our own four-bedroom detached home in North Yorkshire.

If we do, it will be an amalgamation of our two different family Christmases: a glamorous occasion with a real tree, tasteful decorations, multiple courses of food and lots of special touches such as a gift for each guest at the table.

Just don’t expect a warm welcome if you’re wearing jeans or a Christmas jumper.

* In India Montgomery is a pseudonym. All names have been changed.

As told to Sadie Nicholas.