'So what exactly do you do all day?' It's a common question when people discover that my husband and I don't have children and will be spending Christmas child-free.

Others ask if we'll be lonely, or pityingly assume this time of year must make us long for little ones.

It's true, we won't be desperately hunting in the shops for that must-have toy, or queuing to visit Santa in his grotto while hyped-up kids have tantrums all around.

We won't have the 'thrill' of seeing a child be the back end of a donkey in the Nativity play, or the 4.30am scream of 'he's been!' on Christmas Day.

Ellen Manning (pictured with her husband Jamie) says while she's long known she doesn't want children, it's at this time of year that her feelings are strongest

Because while received wisdom has it that Christmas is all about children, for us it's not and I couldn't be happier.

And while I've long known I don't want children, it's at this time of year that my feelings are strongest.

For me, December heralds a period of unashamed decadence — parties, cocktails, meals and lie-ins.

I revel in the chance to spend time in my lovely, calm house, unadulterated by kiddie clutter, celebrating with my husband, family and friends. My child-free Christmas is nothing but joyful.

Some friends tell my husband Jamie we're 'missing out' on the joys of a Christmas with kids.

What do we do? Well, we have created our own Christmas traditions; always heartfelt, often boozy, determinedly counter-intuitive.

For her, December heralds a period of unashamed decadence - parties, cocktails, meals and lie-ins

Our annual barbecue, which usually takes place on December 20 or 21, just as our fellow adults break up from work, is raucous, alcohol-fuelled and stretches from 4pm to the early hours of the next day. It's a real knees-up for those of us — dare I say — lucky enough not to have children.

Jamie — a firefighter, aged 37 like myself — and I don't even buy gifts for each other; instead we have special treats. This year there's a Rod Stewart concert in the mix, and a day trip to London from our home in Warwickshire.

I've also just returned from a trip with my mum to the beautiful Christmas market in Tallinn, Estonia, which would have been far more difficult with children.

While my husband and I do buy gifts for family and friends, shopping for those together at our leisure is a treat, perhaps because they're not the product of an endless 'list to Santa'.

None of this is to say I don't like children. I do — to a point.

Jamie and I both appreciate the potential the festive season has to be magical for little ones: so much so that when we hold our barbecue —with hot dogs cooked outside, mulled wine from a vat in the garden and guests donning fancy dress as they gather round a patio heater to sing carols — we include a 'Santa's Grotto' in the garage and an appearance from Jamie dressed as Saint Nick to entertain our friends' youngsters. Then they have to head home and the party really gets started.

While I like children, if I'm honest, it's never a struggle to say farewell. Life is, whisper it, rather fun without them.

I read last week that 48 per cent of women in England and Wales now don't have children by their 30th birthday.

These official figures show a growing number are staying childless for good, too. It's a stark contrast to their mothers' generation, born in the 1940s. Eight in ten of them had a baby by the age of 30.

Commentators will no doubt be wringing their hands, worrying about women who haven't experienced the joy a little bundle can bring because of not finding Mr Right or trying to crack the glass ceiling.

But while that is the sad truth for some, for others couldn't it just be that we've found life without children is pretty lovely?

I'm convinced some friends feel a twinge of jealousy, wishing they too could be sipping eggnog instead of strong coffee first thing in the morning after another night of teething toddlers.

You might think there's something missing in our marriage because of our conscious decision not to have children. Not so. Jamie and I married just before our 30th birthdays in 2012.

One by one, friends embarked on parenthood and, each time, the issue came up between us. Each time, we decided children weren't for us.

Seven years on, we've concluded our feelings won't change. We love life the way it is — our freedom. I also love my career as a writer, and fear taking a break to have kids would get in the way.

We have real reservations about how we'd manage the tough task that is parenthood. Are we up to the task of utter selflessness? Do we have the patience required?

The older we get, the more these feelings become cemented.

For some of our relatives, it's been hard to understand our desire to be childless. Some have asked us directly about it, some haven't — but it's now clear to all, it's not on the agenda.

So while you're wrestling with your over-excited children on Christmas Eve, think of us. We'll be enjoying ourselves at a nice restaurant or a friend's dinner party. Champagne will feature.

Such heady indulgence is possible thanks to one of the benefits of a child-free Christmas Day: a luxurious lie-in. No high-pitched shrieks at an ungodly hour.

Instead a slow start, a gratifyingly yummy breakfast of eggs Benedict, a Buck's Fizz or two, and a long dog walk.

Yes, we might entertain friends or family on the day itself, but we generally keep the invitation to just grown-ups.

Some years, we take ourselves off on holiday, safe in the knowledge we're not depriving grandparents of special time with their grandchildren.

Last year it was a cosy cottage by the sea in Devon with friends and our dogs. Next time, who knows? But one thing is certain. Wherever we'll be, our Christmas will be unashamedly, delightfully, selfishly childfree.