We, as a family, have an abnormally large concentration of birthdays in the summer. I don’t know why but apart from the odd one or two every single family member is in May, June or July. This means that starting in May presents gradually reduce in value until by July they look like a quick grocery shop.
(Come on you love mayonnaise. Oil! Oil is your favourite thing! Happy birthday!)
Lucy and I are pretty good at the whole present giving thing. Our aim when we buy a present is not for the other person to enjoy it but for the other person to break down in floods of emotional tears and thank us repeatedly.
(A signed photo of Bill Cosby AND the last jumper my mother knitted before she died. Oh god)
I personally don’t understand why you wouldn’t get something that says “it’s your birthday and I really thought about this gift”. Vouchers say “I kind of remembered you had a birthday” and money is even worse it says “I got a card on the way over after Dad reminded me, happy birthday Mum”.
A friend buys his presents from a petrol station the day before, both birthday and Christmas, ensuring that his friends and family have an ample supply of pine scented air freshener and charcoal.
(OMG! This week’s issue of Heat AND a can of Red Bull! Well deck the fucking halls! )