A few Christmases ago, my partner and I decided that, instead of buying each other presents, we would pool our money and buy something fabulous, luxurious, indulgent and beautiful for the house. The first year we bought each other half a cuckoo clock.

In southern Italy, where my mother is from, my maternal grandmother had a proper Swiss cuckoo clock. As we lay in bed I could hear it sing in the room below mine. To this day the sound of a cuckoo signalling the hour makes me feel safe, happy, nostalgic and hopeful all at the same time. Could our first present, I ventured, be a cuckoo clock? My partner, he say yes. But, however sentimental, I didn’t want a cuckoo clock like my Nonna’s; it would not look right in our home. Did such a thing as a modernist cuckoo clock exist?

It did. And it was made by Diamantini and Domeniconi.

The one we decided on was the Cucu, because it HAD to have a cuckoo coming out (the Cucu Low Cost doesn’t). Cucu comes in various finishes, but we wanted it in oak, so I ordered it from My Marca. It was one of those transactions where it all seemed so unreal, I had to make a real leap of faith and convince myself the money was not just going to disappear into an offshore bank account never to be seen again. Communication was not great. But lo! Just before Christmas – on something ridiculous like Christmas Eve – our Cucu arrived, beautifully packaged. And it’s been hanging in our house ever since.

I think we paid about £250 for ours to be specially made in oak (as in, it was as special order at the time and not available off the peg as I think it is now) and delivery from Italy.

The cuckoo’s song can be switched to low, high or off. And it has a light sensor, so it doesn’t sing at night. It is beautiful and is a real conversation piece. We adore it. It makes me happy every time I see it or hear it.

When the clocks went forwards, I couldn’t remember how to change the time so that the cuckoo still sings at the right time. I emailed the company and didn’t hear anything for a while. Then, in (what I find is) typical Italian style, the reply came: late but utterly charming. And direct from Dan Domeniconi himself.