It's the most infuriating time of the year...

And other lyrics Perry Como didn't use

I can’t do Christmas shopping. I just can’t. It might as well be quantum physics or repairing a tap washer. Don’t get me started on nostalgists peddling outright porkies about counting themselves lucky to get a tangerine in a sock and clip round the ear for Christmas (probably with the weaponised sock.)

‘Ah, those were the days,’ they’ll sigh, wiping away a tear with a Furby or whatever recent ‘must-have’ of yesteryear is now the dog’s chew toy.

Give me strength! 😐

Choice is easy for kids, in a way; it’s all about peer pressure. They unequivocally want the latest gizmo or gonk because it’s fashionable, and don’t give me that nonsense about being just as happy with the cardboard box.

Bert unboxed.. not long before he wants an Xbox

Traditionally, adults petition gifts more subtly; dropping hints, making suggestions or opting for the ever-popular, ‘don’t go to any fuss on my account.’

You what? 😣

The latter, in particular, is about as helpful as a sniffer cat to the drug squad, right up there with: ‘Ooh, I don’t want anything’, and ‘any little thing will do, don’t go spending your money on me.’

Yeah, right. 🙄

Those are not guidelines, they’re invitations to come a massive cropper, incidentally all of them copyrighted by members of my family, to predictable effect (the knickers made of recycled tea bags probably weren’t the highlight of my sister’s festive frivolity last year).

Such gift gaffes are the result of a challenge to both wallet and imagination, requiring you to balance fiscal flair with quality merch, while prospective recipient sidesteps any input and lets you do all the hard work.

Many’s the time I’ve been reduced to a gibbering wreck and scouring the shelves of unlikely outlets (he’ll never expect a rubber dinghy repair kit from Halfords, hee hee) just because the giftee anticipates a ‘surprise’.

Year upon year, the lightbulb moments dwindle until you’re left scraping the barrel, previously known as the bargain bin in Woolie’s, for items you then repackage as ‘ironic’ (calendar of ‘Britain’s favourite bus shelters’, Max Bygraves Sings Swing, novelty mullet with optional headband).

And when that rich seam of crapola is exhausted by regifting fatigue?

That’s when you really hit the buffers.

To sum up, I’m completely fed-up of people who refuse to signpost their way to a preferred present, or else shrug and say hopefully yet hopelessly, ‘money?’

Money! I ask you! 😩

I’ve never had a problem wanting things. This year, I’d like a moka pot, a dashcam that doesn’t fall off the windscreen on a hot day and a move to a new house. Rich pickings aplenty there. I make life incredibly easy for everyone around me.

So what are friends and fam getting this year? A tastefully wrapped invitation to keep buying The Book. Even if they’ve already bought The Book, they can never have too many copies of The Book. To paraphrase Whitney, that’s the greatest gift of all.