Being insane, I am trying to buy my boyfriend clothes for Christmas. I'm looking for a jumper, specifically, as he only has three of them. Two now that I've stolen one, in this too-warm-for-coats but still-too-cold-for-short-sleeves-only weather.
I went to Wunderkammer. "Very few jumpers," said Zora. "Wrong season." Outside the sun beat down. I spotted a pile of cashmere. Gorgeous whisper-soft cashmere, but cardigans only. I can't buy him a cardigan, he'll look like Denis Thatcher.
Further down the street there were felt and leather tote bags, and rubberised plastic sunglasses. Dead ends, both of them. Time wasters. He has no need of rubberised sunglasses (who does?) and he already has a bag for his computer. I quite like the tote for myself though.
It's the same every Christmas, I go shopping and buy myself presents. The worst was the year I went out early, in November, to get stuff for five family members. I came back with a pair of sandals and two T-shirts from Adrian Hailwood. All for me, me, me.
Not only is it shameful being this self-centred, it's also expensive. I feel so guilty about splurging on myself when I am meant to be buying for other people, that when I finally do get around to the others, I spend far more than I'd intended on every present. This is why I will never own property in Auckland.
