“How many women must die to satisfy our love of a good Christmas romcom?”

It’s a question that’s been flickering in my head like an on-the-blink fairy light ever since the credits rolled on Lindsay Lohan’s Falling For Christmas. Because, in this particular film (which I loved, in spite of the fact it’s seemingly been created by Netflix’s pet monster – you know, the one that chews up festive algorithms and spits them out into movie scripts?), Lohan’s Sierra Belmont falls head over heels for Chord Overstreet’s Jake Russell.

It’s easy to see the appeal, I guess; this guy owns his own rustic ski lodge in the middle of a snowy winter wonderland. He has a horse called Balthazar. He loves Christmas with every fibre of his being. He’s handsome, too – if you’re into fresh-faced country boys who keep the sleeves on their flannel shirts permanently rolled to their elbows, that is. And he’s achieved just the right level of brooding intensity, too. By which I mean…

Well, he doesn’t stand by bookshelves looking haughty à la Mr Darcy, but he does keep a secret decorative angel hidden inside the top drawer of his office bureau. You know the vibe.

Why are Christmas romcoms so obsessed with single dads and dead wives?