The Present Crisis.

Well it’s that time of year again when Baby Jesus threatens us with the curse of not buying a present for someone who’s bought you one, and single handedly keeps the toy industry buoyant. How did the joy of giving and receiving become contorted by some evil fairy into the misery of not getting what you want and a general anxiety of looking at your January bank statement? But I can’t complain. Being a retired toy designer Father Christmas has paid my family bills for the last forty years. And I’m renowned for my lack of largess when it comes to presents. I don’t understand them. I’ve just bought a replacement hot-end cooling fan for my 3D printer and who would have bought me that? And I want it asap not weeks away. And conversely how might I know Mothermouse wants a jar of ‘Make me look beautiful’ skin moisturiser? OK she told me that weeks ago in passing, but how am I supposed to remember details like that? So, thinking I’m on a sure thing, I might get here a bumper 48 box of Rizla liquorice papers only to hear, ‘well that’s not a present/ but you need them/ exactly, that’s why it’s not a present.’ When Ben, aged six at the time, excitedly opened a box of magic tricks I eagerly joined in, as a father should, and explained how to do them. He burst out crying, threw them across the room and said, “That’s not magic!!” No it’s not Ben, it’s a bloody minefield. Last Christmas I got a cup with a thoughtfully place biscuit pocket on one side. Overlooking the fact one rarely puts a rich tea down once the dunking’s begun I’m left handed. Fail. I could buy Mothermouse a book as I know she loves to read. Have you seen how many books there are!!!! OK she may have mentioned Ore Oduba’s autobiography on the 14th September but I’d forgotten how to spell his name in the second’s transition from the internet back to this doc. My finest present hour was, I still remember it like it was yesterday. A young lady relation, I suspect a kindred spirit, needed a gift. My then wife was appalled,”You can’t give her that!” I wrapped it fearing the worst and sent it. She was overjoyed, best present ever, she loved it. A rubber chicken. You figure it out.