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At this time of year, I like to remind my parents that, despite all the careful thought and consideration they put into it, I do not want any presents from them. Because they are just awful.
For example, last year's Marmite-themed storage jar. Or the previous year's variety pack of 'expensive' soaps. Frankly, I can't remember the last time they actually bought me something I want. Seriously, one year they bought me an oven mitt. Not a pair - one.
With that in mind, does anyone else suffer like this?
'What do we want? We don't know! When do we want it? Now!'
The last few years the mater and pater have just bought me and the mrs a voucher for a meal at a restaurant, something like a Miller & Carter or a Gastro pub. Last year it was great, but miles from bloody anywhere and the "extras" such as booze and cabs meant we spent the same amount again on top as the voucher itself. However, meant we got a few decent steaks out of it.
Mine always give me an expensive bottle of bourbon, and John Lewis vouchers for the missus.
However, my 81 year old mother-in-law is becoming somewhat erratic in her presents. Recently, for my birthday, she gave me a framed picture that my missus had given to her father about 30 years ago!
Wish my parents had supplied me women, but they had this strong Catholic thing going.
[Post edited 12 Dec 2017 14:42]
My wife’s mother gives the worst presents ever. Full stop
Over the last few years we’ve had: A Roman Keating CD A road atlas (got that in 2008......it was dated 2004) The missus got the worst and cheapest purse you can imagine Every year, without fail, we both get a diary A tea set she won at bingo. Hideous And the old classic........bath salts
Last year the penny dropped and she gave us £40 of vouchers for theatre land
In terms of presents we are very lucky in so much as we don’t really need anything. Our families (Apart from her mum) always get us some nice bits and pieces. This year we’ve asked instead the money gets donated to a dog rescue charity
Cherish and enjoy life.... this ain't no dress rehearsal
One year one of my aunts sent me this thing that heats a car key up in case your locks get frozen. Strange present, especially as I didn't have a car and hadn't for years. One of my brothers must scan Amazon for bargain books as I've had a series of briefly popular self-help tomes (is he trying to tell me something) and one year I got the Match of the Day book on the 50th anniversary of MOTD. Except this one was the previous year's book.
christmas 1976, Ten Years Old. I was a typical scrap of east end fluff with a basin haircut in a lee majors tracksuit playing football allday round the back of the prefabs and plashet park. Scuffed knees. Snotty Nose. Bed Bugs.
I was headbanging to the 'weekend world' theme tune When my posh aunty marjorie from her penthouse in gidea park comes round to our crumbling, mouldering midden in east ham with her husband, (a Hugh lovegrove jenkins ffs ), bearing gifts for the esso blue Mob.
I set my eyes on this huge present , and tear into iT like a junk hungry smack head into a liberated pensioners purse, ravenous for a Muhammad Ali blow up boxing punchbag , a football and nets, a Superstriker, a David Nixon magic hat ..even a tommy cooper fu ckin golf set.
but no, the chiffon and brushed denim habitat wa nkers gave me a fu cking wicker chair. a wicker chair to a football mad 10year old.
the f ucking thing wouldn't have looked out of place Suspended from derek flints ceiling. I burst into tears , which was probably the aspirational fu ckers intentions.
still gets bought up every year at christmas.
[Post edited 12 Dec 2017 16:00]
"...The monkey is never dead, Dealer. The monkey never dies. When you kick him off, he just hides in a corner, waiting his turn."
christmas 1976, Ten Years Old. I was a typical scrap of east end fluff with a basin haircut in a lee majors tracksuit playing football allday round the back of the prefabs and plashet park. Scuffed knees. Snotty Nose. Bed Bugs.
I was headbanging to the 'weekend world' theme tune When my posh aunty marjorie from her penthouse in gidea park comes round to our crumbling, mouldering midden in east ham with her husband, (a Hugh lovegrove jenkins ffs ), bearing gifts for the esso blue Mob.
I set my eyes on this huge present , and tear into iT like a junk hungry smack head into a liberated pensioners purse, ravenous for a Muhammad Ali blow up boxing punchbag , a football and nets, a Superstriker, a David Nixon magic hat ..even a tommy cooper fu ckin golf set.
but no, the chiffon and brushed denim habitat wa nkers gave me a fu cking wicker chair. a wicker chair to a football mad 10year old.
the f ucking thing wouldn't have looked out of place Suspended from derek flints ceiling. I burst into tears , which was probably the aspirational fu ckers intentions.
still gets bought up every year at christmas.
[Post edited 12 Dec 2017 16:00]
Fcking hell. Don't come to our secret santa. It's the adult equivalent.
I remember my sister around Xmas 1999 Getting A Bros Jumper from my increasingly erratic Nan just before she, ( my nan), went full blown waco koresh davidian insane.
My Nan had purchased the garment from a stall in Queens road Market , Green street . Matt and Luke Goss crudely knitted faces looked like a pair of Todd browning 1932 Freaks, A Splice of pin heads, parasitic dwarves, bearded ladies and Hermaphrodites . A right Cronenberg Job.
Best of all Underneath their deformed images were the words ' When will I be famous', twelve years since anyone had last heard of them.
"...The monkey is never dead, Dealer. The monkey never dies. When you kick him off, he just hides in a corner, waiting his turn."
christmas 1976, Ten Years Old. I was a typical scrap of east end fluff with a basin haircut in a lee majors tracksuit playing football allday round the back of the prefabs and plashet park. Scuffed knees. Snotty Nose. Bed Bugs.
I was headbanging to the 'weekend world' theme tune When my posh aunty marjorie from her penthouse in gidea park comes round to our crumbling, mouldering midden in east ham with her husband, (a Hugh lovegrove jenkins ffs ), bearing gifts for the esso blue Mob.
I set my eyes on this huge present , and tear into iT like a junk hungry smack head into a liberated pensioners purse, ravenous for a Muhammad Ali blow up boxing punchbag , a football and nets, a Superstriker, a David Nixon magic hat ..even a tommy cooper fu ckin golf set.
but no, the chiffon and brushed denim habitat wa nkers gave me a fu cking wicker chair. a wicker chair to a football mad 10year old.
the f ucking thing wouldn't have looked out of place Suspended from derek flints ceiling. I burst into tears , which was probably the aspirational fu ckers intentions.
christmas 1976, Ten Years Old. I was a typical scrap of east end fluff with a basin haircut in a lee majors tracksuit playing football allday round the back of the prefabs and plashet park. Scuffed knees. Snotty Nose. Bed Bugs.
I was headbanging to the 'weekend world' theme tune When my posh aunty marjorie from her penthouse in gidea park comes round to our crumbling, mouldering midden in east ham with her husband, (a Hugh lovegrove jenkins ffs ), bearing gifts for the esso blue Mob.
I set my eyes on this huge present , and tear into iT like a junk hungry smack head into a liberated pensioners purse, ravenous for a Muhammad Ali blow up boxing punchbag , a football and nets, a Superstriker, a David Nixon magic hat ..even a tommy cooper fu ckin golf set.
but no, the chiffon and brushed denim habitat wa nkers gave me a fu cking wicker chair. a wicker chair to a football mad 10year old.
the f ucking thing wouldn't have looked out of place Suspended from derek flints ceiling. I burst into tears , which was probably the aspirational fu ckers intentions.
still gets bought up every year at christmas.
[Post edited 12 Dec 2017 16:00]
Not sure anybodys said this to you yet Droids, but its good having you back.. :)
Treated Myself to a colecoVision In WH Smiths East Ham High Street for £175 out of my first paypacket in xmas 1984. I remember it came with a gratis smurf game that was marginally more entertaining than having you upper case deltoids worked over by a paint it by numbers fem dom above robert dyas in leadenhall market.
I felt like a booming old testament god floating on his oort cloud as the shoppers parted when i commanded the shop assistant to bring down these uncharted treasures from the top shelf. £175 was a lot of money in those days. The Technology usurping all before it, Even the tommy cooper golf set that lay on the shelf below.
Unfortunately By the January Paypacket i was spu nking my wages on Skol Lager, cecil gee g2 jumpers, import cameo 12" Records , 'jazz' aftershave and Arthur Daley Stickers for my mk 2 Capri.
As a sidenote, I remember not long after, my Stepdad trying to get one over on me by buying this monstrous looking games console , an Intellevision. The controllers looked like something you would strap to the legs of a 1950's Polio child sufferer to aid posture and stability.
"...The monkey is never dead, Dealer. The monkey never dies. When you kick him off, he just hides in a corner, waiting his turn."
At work once, we had a secret Santa but it seemed that many presents must have been bought by or from a female team member who held Ann Summers parties in her spare time.
My own gift was a plastic banana, inside which was a very tasteful, realistic looking model penis that could be filled with liquid and squirted if required, I think. Certainly one of the more useful gifts I've ever received.
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