The art of appearing grateful

From an admittedly rather limited palate, one skill I have managed to burnish over the years is the ability to simulate pleasure at even the most ghastly and inappropriate Christmas present.

Aged six, I opened an appealingly squashy present from my beloved Auntie Phyl. As the paper fell away to reveal a pure white tousle, my heart leapt - Auntie had bought me a wig! But joy was quickly replaced by crushing, tear-making disappointment. It was a hat. Not even an ordinary hat. But a grotesque, furry marshmallow of a thing that, even at such a tender age, I realised was in a class of its own in terms of attracting playground ridicule.

I loved my Auntie, however, and had been brought up to be polite. So I smiled, put the wretched thing on my head and pretended like a wee brave soldier to be pleased. It's an act I've managed to continue over the years.

But I think this is a girlie thing.

Give socks, knickers or vests to the man in your life, get the wrong DVD or make the fatal mistake of thinking that because they like football and support a certain team they will want the autobiography of the cerebrally challenged manager and all hell breaks loose.

Possibly because they actually think the wrapping paper will contain something they really want, men are simply incapable of pretending that the contents will do anything other than spark protracted depression.

Still in the dog house - nearly three years after the event - for failing (despite months of trying) to come up with anything decent for an 'important' birthday of my husband's, I leapt for joy at a couple of recent newspaper headlines.

Written by men, both articles suggested that attempting to buy anything for a bloke very much older than five (I've got that remote controlled Dalek on order for the nephew) is a total mistake.

One suggested that even if you know what a man wants, he still likes to discuss its purchase with the expert in the shop. Clothes are never quite right. And, anything practical would suggest you want him to be capable of doing something around the house, even though, or course, you know much better than to believe that possible.

But hit upon something he may really like and there's a good chance he's already bought it. There it was on page two of the Financial Times: 'Men propel surge in online shopping'.

Alright, it's probably not the snappiest, read-me, come-on type headline.

But, it spoke volumes to me. According to the British Council of Shopping Centres, men have a 'hunter' approach to shopping. They find it easier and more cost-efficient to shop on line rather than drag round store after store or spend hours window shopping. They believe it saves time to make their purchases on the internet. Even if the urge grabs them half way through the evening they can still buy the Bob Dylan album missing from their collection rather than having to wait til morning. Instant is good.

Retailers are clearly worried that this rather forensic approach will take hold. I'm not surprised at their concern. When I do a supermarket shop on-line I am targetted, direct - and spend probably £40 a week less than I would normally be persuaded to do while browsing the aisles by eye-catching special offers and hosts of luscious looking things I won't consume in a month of Sundays.

Lisa Buckingham, editor, Financial Mail

Comments

[Mary Donovan]

Tell me about it! I have just had a birthday and my darling niece appeared with the most horrendous bunch of bright salmon pink flowers fashioned from crepe paper and tied with a huge crepe paper bow. As my jaw hit the ground she beamed and informed me "they light up, too". And they did. She went on to say that she knew that 'ladies of a certain age' loved to have such pretty things in their bedrooms. How could I possibly disillusion her? My face ached from smiling my thanks.
But I love her, so would never dream of hurting her to say a small bunch of the real McCoy would perhaps grace my bedroom with more taste than the illuminated variety.