mostly david ephgrave

For a long time, I've had a complex about giving presents. I often leave gift shopping until the absolute last minute, not because I'm lazy but for fear that I'll choose something that isn't good enough and cause offence. I get extremely anxious about it and second-guess my judgment. I can trace this paranoia to two events. One Mother's Day when I was twelve or thirteen, I decided to write a song for my mum and record it on my four-track recorder so she could have a nice version to keep. I spent a few days methodically preparing a demo, recording guitar parts and then overdubbing vocals and percussion. It wasn't my finest work, but I took the time to get it right. I can still remember the moment I played it to her. We were in my bedroom when I gave her a card and the tape. As she ripped open the package to reveal the cassette, I felt tense. I put it into my Hi-Fi and we listened in silence. Suddenly, the whole idea felt wrong. She looked irritable. And her respo...

The world would be a better place if more people reacted to their presents like this. (Though putting them in your mouth before rolling about on the floor isn’t strictly advisable.) Today ended up being a quiet, yet pleasant Christmas for me, spent with my parents at my mum’s house. While the three of us hadn’t shared many Christmases all together for years until relatively recently, it’s become a bit of a latter-day tradition, which is nice. We tend to meet for lunch pretty regularly, but for some reason the Big Festive One alluded us for a while, so it’s good to be able to do it. We didn’t get up to a great deal, other than consuming the customary dinner (which ended up making no other meals necessary), opening our presents and having a chat, but that was enough. I also took my mum’s dog out for a Christmas walk, which was a pleasant way to work my dinner off. All in all, it was lovely day - and the best bit of all was I managed to avoid watching Mrs Brown’s ...