It’s Christmas - but all presents are not correct

A pile of Christmas gifts in colorful wrapping with ribbons.
A pile of Christmas gifts in colorful wrapping with ribbons.

Dancing through the snow on a one horse open sleigh....

Well here we are again folks - to quote Noddy Holder of Slade: “It’s Christmaaaaas.”

Well it is in Boots.

They are , I am reliably informed already stocking up the shelves with gift sets.

And I bet they are not alone.

No sooner has Summer of Sport London 20012 Olympics and Paralympics ™ all rights reserved - exited stage left - along with what was once the Summer but is now the monsoon season - we have been launched unceremoniously into a winter wonderland. Of gift sets.

There will be a brief flurry of trick or treat garish death masks and Halloween cloaks clogging up the quid shops, before they too become inundated with his and hers gift sets of inferior quality.

I can appreciate why women would like a gift set. They actually use body lotion and cream cleanser and eau de parfum spray.

But for blokes it’s a different kettle of fish.

Perhaps that is an unfortunate metaphor to use.

It’s not that I’m dirty and smell like a pole cat - but what’s wrong with simple soap, shaving cream and antiperspirant?

Generations of Christmas origin deodorant, after shave balm and shower gel languish gathering dust in my bathroom cabinet.

I had a tube of something called facial scrub. I rubbed it on my face and it left me with a sort of sunburst finish, like a vintage Gibson Les Paul electric guitar.

And those little circular pieces of perfumed soap bring me out in red weals and blotches.

Someone bought me a male grooming set once - it as I remember, contained an assortment of bizarre accoutrements including an ear pick and a nasal hair trimmer. It had a little torch in it as well.

Were they trying to tell me something? Perhaps the odd stray nostril bristle emerging tendril-like into the sunlight unsettled them, or an extrusion of earwax which had escaped my attention and regularly deposited itself on my shirt?

The hair trimmer looked such a tenacious beast I was terrified I might extract my brain via my nostril.

Feeling a bit guilty about dumping it in the rammel drawer, I engaged in a project of extracting a few of the more prominent nasal hairs with a set of monkey-metal tweezers included in the miscellany of manicuring malarkey, before they gave up the ghost.

At least nasal hairs are reasonable and dislodge relatively painlessly, strange beasts that they are.

I am now told that foodie gift sets are the new kids on the block in the Christmas gift set stakes. That’s more like it.

Quails eggs, curry spice kits and a bottle of expensive extra virgin olive oil. I could warm it up and use it to loosen the ear wax..