Couple of months ago I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t commit my usual Christmas f up of not doing anything about buying presents for my nearest and dearest until the last minute. I figured this would save me some grey hairs and that doing my shopping in late November or early December would allow me to neatly sidestep the rage fueled world of the panic buyer. I started to write a couple of lists of possibilities, didn’t come up with anything too brilliant and figured, oh well, you’ve made a start, lets have a think about this again in another week or two.
Now, four or five weeks gone, I am back faced with the predicament again. Old father time has scooped up the period of sensible planning, strategic action and careful selection and stuffed it in his mouth and now I am doomed to fight my way round the West End like a confused water rat, well out of my pond and shaking my fists at the rotarians.