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What a dilemma!

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I have been dreading this for weeks. It's not that I don't enjoy writing festive season stories - by the time I put a full stop at the end of this sentence, I will have strung together enough words to buy a Christmas card.

No, my problem is much closer to home. I have been asked to write this piece about the many wonderful presents I would buy my wife for Christmas. It's meant to be a kind of poor husband's guide. The trouble is, I don't have a clue.

My past form in this very personal area is definitely patchy. For example, I well remember the top-of-the-range video camera and accompanying paraphernalia I presented her with three years ago.

I thought it was an excellent idea, figuring we would film ourselves, our friends, our wedding, our holidays and, one day, our future children. During a weekend getaway in Macau, we did once film ourselves soon after acquiring the new toy. But we've both been too self-conscious to look at the result. The camera has been used only sparingly since. My wife is simply not interested in it.

You know you've bought a dud present when the recipient says something like: 'It's the thought that counts.' This, of course, is code for: 'You silly clot, how could you have bought me such a dumb gift? But as it is a season of goodwill, I'm going to give you a little bit of face, anyway.' If I have learnt a lesson from this experience it is that choosing gifts for loved ones, based on what I want, is almost certain to end in tears. This year, for example, I have an overwhelming urge to buy my long-suffering, non-golfing wife a membership at one of the swanky new golf resorts in southern China. Generous, yes. Useful, of course. But doomed to failure.

After the video camera debacle, I kicked a goal with her 1995 Christmas gift. A gold bangle with intricately engraved dragons, swirls and flowers, it was bought on the run, impulsively, with little aforethought.

She has professed to love it, and I don't doubt that she does. The point is, I could have spent long nights roaming Pacific Place and frustrating Sundays trudging through Mongkok in a quest for a gift that would have been appreciated less.

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