you, turned and walked to the station, and I remember sitting there on the platform, thinking my god, my boyfriend’s got me a Ladyshave for Christmas. He even told me he was going to do it. And I didn’t stop him.
H. W.
Let’s also cast our mind back, briefly, to the second of Russell Belk’s aforementioned perfect gift characteristics: ‘The giver wishes solely to please the recipient’. As we know, people can sometimes give unto others gifts that they want themselves, an act that’s laughably transparent. The mother of a friend of mine is obsessed with owls. Her daughter doesn’t share her obsession, but one year her mother presented her with a huge gift-wrapped present, about three feet in height. It was a giant plastic owl.
Then there are the mysterious, last-minute presents with no obvious thought put into them, just objects, random objects, which can be bought, and occupy space, and can be wrapped up, so they’ll do. I don’t know, maybe a lampshade, or a box of plastic suction hooks, or a bag of pizza base mix, or a bottle of Vosene with a promotional comb Sellotaped to the side, or a Healthy Eating calendar with the price still stuck on, or an unusually shaped thing with no obvious function and no instruction manual to shed light on what it might be. This category of present can be borne out of desperation, or stinginess, or just a dislike of Christmas. But for some families, inexplicable bags of presents can start to become a tradition.
My mum grew up after the war, and she has that mentality of not spending money on things you don’t need. So on Christmas morning, we come down to the living room, and we say to the kids, ‘OK, Grandma’s presents are there in the corner, and we’re saving them until last.’ They’re always in a Lidl carrier bag, and they’re wrapped in whatever paper happens to be lying around, because she believes that Christmas wrapping paper is a waste of money. And the presents are legendary. She doesn’t ask us what we might like, she just gets whatever she wants. A key ring with a cat saying ‘Always Yours’ on it. A can of WD-40. Anchovy paste. I quite often get walnuts, which I can’t stand. Her labels are amazing: she once got me Peter Kay’s autobiography, which was nice enough, but she wrote on the label: ‘I got this in a charity shop’.
It’s not just thrift. She’s thinking things over in her mind about the past, and it comes out in the presents. But in that moment on Christmas morning it’s difficult to follow her thought processes. I mean, the last thing you’re expecting on Christmas morning is a can of squid in black ink. But we sit down as a family, and say, ‘OK, who’s got the best present from Grandma?’ Last year my 19-year-old son, who had just started at university, got a roll of Sellotape. My mum might even have been using the Sellotape to wrap other presents and thought, ‘Oh, that’s what he’ll need’, and then wrapped it up. People think her presents are hilarious, and they are. But to be honest, they’re also really touching.
P. S., Chesterfield
What with the passive-aggressive fallout from misjudged gifts – the jumper never to be worn, the Vengaboys album never to be enjoyed – it’s little wonder that people resort to less imaginative, more practical ways to tick the present-giving box. The bleakest manifestation of this is the tenner in the Christmas card, particularly if two people give each other a tenner in a Christmas card, the Yuletide equivalent of the nil–nil draw. Vouchers may seem more thoughtful and less vulgar, but let’s face it, vouchers are just cash that you can only spend in one place. (‘Why are you placing such unreasonable restrictions upon me?’ is the perfect thing to yell at anyone giving you a voucher this Christmas, although I accept no responsibility for the fallout that may result from this.)
The truth is that small stacks of envelopes just don’t look that good under the Christmas tree. The trend of giving ‘gift experiences’ only adds to that stack, with envelopes containing printed-out emails on which people have scribbled things like ‘you are going bungee jumping in February’ or ‘have a great time rallying at Prestwold Driving Centre’. Then there are the envelopes containing apologies for things that haven’t turned up yet – ‘bread making machine coming in early January’ – although it’s worth being explicit about this kind of thing. Give a child a photograph of a bicycle in an envelope with no accompanying note, and they are likely to experience several seconds of turmoil until you explain that they’re being given a bike and not a photograph of a bike.
No, to fulfil the traditional image of Christmas, you need big stuff wrapped up big (or small things nestling gently on velvet cushions in presentation boxes). But for many people this eye-watering outlay on gifts isn’t ethically or environmentally sound. As the commercialisation of Christmas grows ever more rampant (see Six Bargains Grabbing, page 113), there’s a snowballing temptation to outdo the excesses of the previous year’s splurge, and some families now find themselves unwittingly obliged to fill a Christmas Eve Box. For those who remain blissfully unaware, the Christmas Eve Box is just a load more presents but given a day early. It was suggested in The Daily Telegraph in 2016 that the Christmas Eve Box has become a ‘a charming new tradition’ – but let’s be honest, it’s about keeping kids quiet as their anticipation of Christmas Day reaches unbearably frantic levels, like throwing red meat to the wolves.
This zealous pursuit of materialism may prompt the most politically left-leaning member of the family to abandon traditional gift giving, choosing instead to buy everyone charitable donations to good causes which manifest themselves in the form of a certificate and months of email spam from a panda. It’s a position I have sympathy with, but it’s possible to acknowledge the excesses of modern living and also accept that presents can be lovely things. Few things are as heartening as going for a walk on Christmas morning and seeing kids on new bikes that are ever so slightly too big for them, and while there’s no doubt that Christmas comes with an obligation to give stuff (perhaps too much stuff) it also presents us with a wonderful opportunity. Because, if you do it right, it’s possible to make someone’s year, and create a memory that can last a lifetime.
Watford, Christmas 1982
When I was a kid, I wanted a ZX Spectrum. I knew my folks couldn’t afford it, so I started to save up. I had a paper round and did other odd jobs. I compiled a list of all the things I would need – computer, joystick, even that funny little thermal printer they had. I put all the prices on my list and was committed to about a year’s worth of working and saving. I asked my parents for money towards the goal.
On Christmas morning, I got the normal sackful of ‘little’ presents and my ‘big’ present was handed to me by Dad. It was a cheque for £35 and I was delighted because that was a lot of money for me – and them – at the time. Then, Dad said to me – ‘Actually, give that cheque back. We might need to think about this.’ I paused and gave him the cheque back. He turned the TV on and slid a wooden tray out from underneath the telly. On it was a brand new ZX Spectrum, and the telly was beaming out the game ‘Harrier Attack’. I burst into happy tears. So did my parents. Best present ever, even now.
S. N. R.
Bryn: Doris, will you join us in a Mint Baileys for Christmas?
Doris: I won’t, Bryn. I’ve been drinking all day. To tell you the truth, I’m absolutely twatted.
Gavin & Stacey Christmas Special, 2008
I noticed when I was young that Welsh people of a certain age would make this peculiar whooping noise whenever they were surprised, shocked or delighted. It sounded like a slower version of the ‘pull up’ siren that goes off in the cockpit before an aeroplane
