Well, I was right. Two shirts, one jumper, one pack of socks, a spiceweasel for the kitchen, a bottle of Spanish antifreeze, and some not-quite-aftershave that I'll never use from my brother, who I think assumes I'm the same kind of soft jessie as he is[0]. Seriously, who the fuck looks at me and thinks "Eau de toilette! What a wonderful gift for that man in the scruffy combats and the Iron Maiden shirt." Further proof that these people down here haven't the first fucking clue what their own son/brother is about.
Apparently, though, they'd got me a Bonsai kit. Because that's what you get someone interested in things other than foot-to-ball, apparently. I daresay it was a suggestion from the pages of the Daily Hate, which my dad's still reading. Everything you need in the one box: tree, tools, you name it. Something for me to try out. Wonderful, I thought. Except it wasn't. They'd bought it four months ago and in a wonderful example of brainfarting, stuck it in the back of a cupboard without heat, light, or water for four months. My mum's trying to nurse it back to health, but the bloody thing's pining for the fijords.
Then the class war showed up in full force, as my brother gave an iPhone and received a 360.
It grates, because apparently it's my fault for not wanting anything. Hence they give me whatever crap they think up. Nobody ever suggests anything concrete, or tries subtlety as an excuse for a surprise. "What do you want?" is a terrible question, one that I'm incapable of answering honestly. Because my first answer would be "A new motherboard, chip, and graphics card for my main desktop, a Mac Mini to use as a PVR, an N810 for writing on the train because using a Macbook when you're not at a table seat is bloody uncomfortable, a nice big iPod to use as a hundred sixty gig of media backup drive, oh, and if you're not going for the first one I'd not say no to a new iMac." Not a thing on that list under two hundred quid. When fifty's the top limit, the problem's plain.
I can't recommend titles of books or video games that I'd like, because most of them have been out for months and thus I've bought them already, and my parents start shopping five months in advance. Three weeks was a long enough wait for Portal, TYVM. Hence the standing order of "SF Masterworks — even if I end up not liking them, I can trade them." It's been my stock answer for seven years, but they're now scared that they'll buy me a book I already have. Rather that than a tiny bottle of expensive scented ethanol, I tell you. I can't recommend movies, because frankly I wouldn't buy any if it weren't for random impulses in HMV. And tech, as previously mentioned, is too expensive.
Next year I'm going to build one shopping cart of Lulu-published games, one shopping cart of second-hand or not "mustplaynow" video games, and one of charitable donation gifts. I didn't have the time this year due to going on holiday, and I really don't like spelling things out — it both ruins the surprise and reminds me of the hideously selfish bastard I was when I was a kid. But it looks like the only way that these people will generate a christmas that doesn't leave me feeling like it's a hollow and pointless waste of time reveling in other people's capitalism. If I have to go through that, I should at least come out in profit.
In other news, I wrote 1000 words today. May write more, but my protest is complete.
[0]: Seriously. The jessie's glad to have got moisturising body scrub of a certain brand. The fucking ponce.
Apparently, though, they'd got me a Bonsai kit. Because that's what you get someone interested in things other than foot-to-ball, apparently. I daresay it was a suggestion from the pages of the Daily Hate, which my dad's still reading. Everything you need in the one box: tree, tools, you name it. Something for me to try out. Wonderful, I thought. Except it wasn't. They'd bought it four months ago and in a wonderful example of brainfarting, stuck it in the back of a cupboard without heat, light, or water for four months. My mum's trying to nurse it back to health, but the bloody thing's pining for the fijords.
Then the class war showed up in full force, as my brother gave an iPhone and received a 360.
It grates, because apparently it's my fault for not wanting anything. Hence they give me whatever crap they think up. Nobody ever suggests anything concrete, or tries subtlety as an excuse for a surprise. "What do you want?" is a terrible question, one that I'm incapable of answering honestly. Because my first answer would be "A new motherboard, chip, and graphics card for my main desktop, a Mac Mini to use as a PVR, an N810 for writing on the train because using a Macbook when you're not at a table seat is bloody uncomfortable, a nice big iPod to use as a hundred sixty gig of media backup drive, oh, and if you're not going for the first one I'd not say no to a new iMac." Not a thing on that list under two hundred quid. When fifty's the top limit, the problem's plain.
I can't recommend titles of books or video games that I'd like, because most of them have been out for months and thus I've bought them already, and my parents start shopping five months in advance. Three weeks was a long enough wait for Portal, TYVM. Hence the standing order of "SF Masterworks — even if I end up not liking them, I can trade them." It's been my stock answer for seven years, but they're now scared that they'll buy me a book I already have. Rather that than a tiny bottle of expensive scented ethanol, I tell you. I can't recommend movies, because frankly I wouldn't buy any if it weren't for random impulses in HMV. And tech, as previously mentioned, is too expensive.
Next year I'm going to build one shopping cart of Lulu-published games, one shopping cart of second-hand or not "mustplaynow" video games, and one of charitable donation gifts. I didn't have the time this year due to going on holiday, and I really don't like spelling things out — it both ruins the surprise and reminds me of the hideously selfish bastard I was when I was a kid. But it looks like the only way that these people will generate a christmas that doesn't leave me feeling like it's a hollow and pointless waste of time reveling in other people's capitalism. If I have to go through that, I should at least come out in profit.
In other news, I wrote 1000 words today. May write more, but my protest is complete.
[0]: Seriously. The jessie's glad to have got moisturising body scrub of a certain brand. The fucking ponce.
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Thank you.
A book of herbs for Mum. £10.
A pair of gloves for Sam, my nephew, that he'd seen in a store. £10. A laser screwdriver from Doctor Who that his Mum's boyf promptly smashed trying to get it opened. £10.
So much for fancy tech toys.
A pink undated three year diary for Sam's Mum, my Sis. £10. She liked the design, so she says. I think that if that is her "like" expression, I'd hate to see her "bulldog licking piss off a stinging nettle" expression.
Me: A reading rest. £20. Brilliant. :o) I mean seriously.
Nai.
I got Nai a flash drive. 1Gb. But that's not all.
When she receives it, it will contain some WAV sound files I'll have recorded: readings of Sufi poetry by Rumi.
The parcel will also contain the book from which I took my readings.
There isn't a price for that, is there? :o) Merry Xmas.
Hell, I'm glad you enjoyed the holiday. I will a lot more around March, when [NDA'd because I can't think of a good title] is due and fuck the world, but in the meantime, rock on.
Shit, the brandy's open. The world's favourite Scots bastard must DRINK!!
Gods, you Scots also get Burns Night on 25th of January. All we get here in Wales is St Dwynwen's Day, which is the traditional and almost forgotten Lovers' Day, and ...
Oh. Shagging. :) Nai. :))
They wouldn't know where to find a Laphroaig quarter cask anyway...
and cause its a list, with the instruction that you only want one, then its still a mild surprise as to which one you get.