Presents, either buying them or receiving them, are always a problem for me. I dread the run up to Christmas because I always struggle to think of something to buy Caroline. A couple of years ago things came to a head.
“I couldn’t have done more to help you,” she said in exasperation. “There really isn’t any more I can do. You always have six months warning to buy me a present whether it's Christmas or for my birthday, but you always leave it to the last minute – except for the time you forgot altogether.”
“I didn’t forget,” I said indignantly, “it was ordered but it didn’t arrive in time.”
“So, you say!”
“It’s true, but it was worth it when it finally came, wasn’t it?”
“That’s not the point,” she said. “My parents were considerate enough for me to be born exactly halfway between one Christmas and the next, so you always have the maximum amount of time to think of a present and then buy it.”
“Actually,” I said cautiously, “I think you’ll find that June the twenty ninth is halfway between Christmases, not the twenty fifth, your birthday.”
“But it was my Christmas present that was late, not my birthday present and so you had an extra four whole days to think about it.”
I wish I had the same attitude to buying presents as our nephews, Oscar and Timo. They both get more genuine pleasure from finding and giving presents than they do from receiving them. Three years ago, when he was 4, Timo rushed into our new house for the first time just after we had moved in and excitedly told Caroline,
“We’ve got you a surprise present. You won’t guess what it is. It’s a watering can.”
We spent last Christmas with them, and I knew that they had bought me something special because they spent all Christmas Eve telling me that they had known exactly which shop in New York to get me a present from and I had to open their present first. I did open it first and I did so with them both pressed up against me, staring intently at the package as I unwrapped it to reveal – a raccoon’s skull. I wasn’t expecting that!
Last Christmas, Caroline gave me a list of 5 ideas to help me and that certainly made my ordeal a lot easier. I wish I could do the same for her, but I never can. Presents always cause me problems. My birthday is in early February and the moment the Christmas lights have come down, Caroline asks me what I’d like for my birthday.
There are two problems that always emerge after being asked this question. Firstly, if there were something that I really wanted, I would have asked for it as a Christmas present. Secondly, and this difficulty is virtually insurmountable, there is never anything that I really want. Also, I never really want anything nowadays and if I did, I’d buy it straight away. I wouldn’t wait until an occasion.
A good present is one that you don’t realise you want or need until you get it. The raccoon skull is a good example of this.
This birthday, I thought I had it cracked. Instead of coming out with my usual answer which is, “Oh, I don’t know, nothing really,” I announced, vehemently and confidently,
“A Julienne Peeler!”
Five minutes later I discovered that I hadn’t cracked it at all.
“I’m not getting you one of those,” Caroline said. “They’re too cheap. The most expensive one I can find online is three pounds forty-nine.”
“But that’s what I want, and it’s what I need,” I bleated, plaintively.
“Then you’ll have to buy it yourself. My present to you has got to cost at least ten times that.”
“Why? Because if that's a measure of how much you love me, I wish you loved me less because a Julienne peeler is the only thing I really want.”
Two days later, after more persistent questioning from Caroline and some deep thought by me, I was able to put something else on my wish list but that wasn’t satisfactory either.
“Are you taking the piss?” Caroline demanded. “Three and a half thousand pounds for a television! I don’t love you that much!”
“Yes, but it’s a smart one,” I said. “It does all sorts of things.”
“You are being deliberately difficult.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, “I’ll think about it some more and let you know.”
So, I went online. My first stop, after I’d put, “presents for a 68-year-old man” into Google, was John Lewis and their ‘For Him’ range. What a waste of time! Most suggestions were fairly useless.
Cufflinks: Who wears them these days?
Ties: I haven’t worn a tie since 1975.
Socks: I haven’t worn socks since we went to Cayman in 2005.
Aftershave: I have never used aftershave.
Bags: What am I supposed to put in a leather bag?
Useless!
I found ‘Presents For Old Men’ on Amazon. This looked promising: an Inflatable Zimmer Frame reduced from £9.99 to £3.69 but Caroline won’t buy me that because it’s too cheap and anyway, I don’t really need it - yet.
The other ideas were all non-starters except for, Miracle Hair Growth Mints that are promised to give “Great Hair and Fresh Breath” but again at £6.99 they are too cheap, while a Self-Stirring Mug is just too ridiculous to be taken seriously. Stirring my coffee is just about the only exercise I get these days.
Many of the potential presents I discovered online were no good for me because they are alcohol related and I've had no alcohol since August 2007. There were any number of hip flasks, decanters and personalised whisky tumblers.
My last port of call was ‘Difficult Grandads’ and this looked as if it had potential because most ideas were in excess of thirty pounds. I decided against Six StickOn Moustaches, "in different styles made with real hair". If I had ever wanted a moustache, I would have grown my own and I never have.
I am sorely tempted to Become a Lord! because, apparently, “This is your opportunity to join the noble 'Elite' and be the envy of your friends.” Caroline could buy me a title so that I become Lord Wilton of some tiny plot of land somewhere in the highlands of Scotland but unfortunately at £14.99, it doesn’t cost enough.
However, after nearly an hour of searching, I have found something for next time I’m asked what I want for a present:
Fart-Filtering Boxer Shorts. They eliminate odour by means of an activated carbon panel sown into the back of them. At £24.99, one pair is too cheap, but I will need at least two pairs, won’t I?
Afterword
Caroline has just read this through and asked me, "What are fast filtering boxer shorts?"
It's interesting that she read what she expected to read and not what I wrote.
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