SOME years ago, I got myself a Slanket. It was one of those "As Seen On TV" numbers, a gigantic fleece blanket with large, loose sleeves like a wizard's garb.

When not snuggled under it in front of the telly, I would swish around the house, trying not to trip over the excess fabric that trailed on the floor and uttering muffled curses about the cuffs getting wet whenever I went to the loo.

While wearing it, I once answered the door to the postman who gave a quizzical look, before saying: "Err, is your dressing gown on back to front, hen?" Affecting my most haughty expression, I informed him it was a Slanket. He gave me a pitying smile, "Aye, well, it's something."

The Slanket was well-worn that winter. It was also well-laundered on the account that at any given time it contained a multitude of food and beverage stains: spilled cereal, biscuit crumbs, yoghurt, tea, ketchup, egg yolk and on one occasion an entire upended bowl of soup.

The downside was the Slanket packed a static charge that would have been sufficient to jolt Frankenstein's monster to life on his slab. It eventually became threadbare (in hindsight, it may have been a market knock-off rather the real deal) and was given to a friend for her pregnant cat's basket.

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I then switched allegiances to the Onesie, a garment that was all the rage circa 2010 when I wrote a column raving about them for this newspaper (which, if I ever lay my hands on, I shall set alight and send down the Clyde on a funeral pyre).

The Onesie is a sartorial abomination. A strictly behind-closed-doors item. Although, even that is a gamble as I learned to my peril one evening when two police officers showed up (the normal police, not the fashion police) with an update on my husband's stolen bike.

We chatted for a good 10 minutes, all the while deftly ignoring the elephant in the room: that I was wearing a fleecy red-and-white Onesie, looking like an overgrown toddler left home alone. Thinking about it now still makes me blush.

Over the years, there's been various fads – the mermaid's tail blanket being one that springs to mind – and currently it seems to be all about the Oodie. Well, it is if the slew of (badly) targeted ads I'm getting on social media are anything to go by.

Every second one seems to be for a garish, oversized hoodie (RRP £84!?) covered in cartoonish unicorns, pandas, penguins, avocados, otters, sloths, garlic bread and pizzas. According to the Oodie website, demand is so high that orders won't be shipped until late December.

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I adored the Slanket, I went down the rabbit hole of bad taste for the Onesie, but I draw the line at the Oodie. If you need me, I'll be sitting with a wee tartan blanket draped over my knees in front of the fire. Does this mean I'm finally classy?

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