Dicing for presents
This year, like the past 4-5 years, we will be dicing for presents. Everyone brings along 3 presents. 2 should be obvious crap, old stuff found in the basement etc. The third present should be something good, but shouldn't cost more than a few quid. All are wrapped in old newspaper rather than expensive gift wrapping, in order to make sure that noone can tell who brought the presents or whether it is a good one, or a crappy one.

We then pile up all presents on the table, and start dicing for the presents (2 persons each round, the one with the higher number can select any present from the pile). After the pile is gone, 2-3 rounds of more dicing, where the winner can pick any present from anyone, or tell anyone to give a specific present to an other person. This works best with at least 6-7 people.
Afterwards, presents are unwrapped one after another in order to give everyone a chance feel stupid enough for choosing what presents they got.

Greatest presents so far (it is the crappy ones that you actually tend to like most):
- an "ancient" Egyptian table lamp (fuck ugly, made a return next christmas to be won by the original owner)
- 3 porcellain garden dwarfs (again, fuck ugly, didn't survive the dwarf tossing contest later in the evening)
- a used toaster (15 years old, completely caked in burned bread crumbs)
- condoms (the look of disbelief on grandmom's face will live in our memory forever)
( RedWine President of the S.C.U.M., Fri 27 Nov 2009, 17:30, 5 replies)

Inspired by another T-shirt post
This is what I'm thinking of getting made for a friend of mine who likes a drink a little lot more than he should...


( MatJ LOOK, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 17:22, 2 replies)

Bespoke Monopoly
A few years ago, the people who make Monopoly came up with the genius idea of local editions. You could go round your home town buying up the cathedral, the local footie stadium and so on. It was also, of course, tremendous fun to see if your street was of a high, or low, value – congratulations! you live in a shit part of town and now everybody knows it.

Recently, I found out that you can even have a truly bespoke edition:

www.mymonopoly.com/home.php

And became a bit obsessed about it (essentially you design your own monopoly board and can customise certain squares. Two things though, first, they don’t allow naughty words and second, it’s eighty fucking quid!)

Surely this is a fantastic idea for a couple of reasons. The first is that you can have a really, really, really local version. Live in a tiny village? A hamlet so small it actually has a horse sharing arrangement with a nearby town? The sort of place that has submitted a claim for an EU grant to afford an idiot? The sort of place that only famous folk singers and homicidal maniacs ever come from? Well, why not have a village edition, with local landmarks like the war memorial, church and bus shelter. In fact since they closed down the post office, that’s it for local landmarks, so you are going to have to get creative; ‘that spot where Darren shagged our Sally’, ‘Where Jon was sick after he drank all that scrumpy’, ‘Where we burned that tramp’, ‘The pond’, ‘Roadkill’ and so on.

But why are we restrained by geography? Monopoly comes out at family gatherings when the usual arguments have been exhausted and everyone needs some fresh material to bicker about. So how about some properties that have a special place in family history, ‘where Cousin Sadie had her first wedding’, ‘where cousin Sadie had her second wedding’, and have the second location cheaper than the first? Or the classic: ‘The house Tom’s bitch wife got in the divorce’?

Or moments or occasions? Like your twelfth birthday party could be a low value square because you peed yourself with excitement in front of everyone when you opened your present and it was He Man. (Oh, the humiliation!)

Other low value squares: the time your cousin tried to ‘touch’ you, the time your cousin went to prison because you made up that story about him ‘touching’ you, the time you held a funeral for your pet dog (that wasn’t actually dead, you were just going through a morbid phase). High value squares could be ‘My first drink’, ‘passing my driving test’ or the ever popular ‘out and proud’ (adjacent to ‘dad makes full recovery from heart attack’).

Better still: family secrets edition! But is ‘Tina’s little problem’ a high or low value square? And will ‘That time Auntie Vic came home early and found Uncle Tony sucking the milkman’s cock’ fit on one square.

Of course, the real benefit would be to use people, not places or occasions. Fed up with having to put up for years with Granma’s sadistic game of arranging family photographs on her sideboard in order of current preference, and always being banished to the Siberia that is propped up against the lamp? Then imagine her delight at finding that you have designated ‘Granny Gin Breath’ as the lowest value square on the board.

I predict a fist fight before anyone passes ‘Go!’
(Macnabbs may contain traces of exaggeration on, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 16:16, 4 replies)

Christmas markets
I'm pinning my hopes on Manchester's xmas markets. There's usually some decent crafts around. Failing that there are things such as Amazon, Lush, Hotel Chocolat and suppliers of alcoholic beverages.

On the list are : a couple of computer games, some lush stuff, some wine related stuff, a couple of books and some jewellery. Other than that, at a loss..

My cunning plan is to go out with a friend shopping, then recover with beer and curry and chat.
(syllopsium, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 16:09, 2 replies)

I've made some presents this year
And I'm not talking about some shite hand-carved statutes or collages made from dead ladybirds. Nope, I've made around sixty bottles of wine from grapes, elderberries and plums which are maturing nicely and will be rather tasty by the time Christmas comes around (judging from the *ahem* quality control samples *ahem*).

I cheated with the proper (i.e. grape) wine and bought a kit with which to make it and this works out at about £1.20 per bottle. The plum wine and the eldeberry wine was even cheaper as all I had to buy was 5 kilograms of sugar because I picked the fruit myself.

The best part is that whilst it is a little labour intensive, it certainly isn't difficult to create some really nice tasting, present-grade wine. There are plenty recipes on the internet and kits available that talk you through every step for the less confident

I'm going to have some serious difficulty giving up the elderberry and the plum wine is bordering on rocket fuel....

All I can say is thank god every member my family drinks like a fish.
(Angio can smell your fear just by looking at you., Fri 27 Nov 2009, 15:36, 2 replies)

I want some of this.
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/north_east/8380412.stm

That'll get me through Xmas day no matter what!
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 27 Nov 2009, 15:15, 8 replies)

Christmas on a budget
This year Christmas is happening at a reduced cost. Me and mrs stolen teddy are expecting a little one next year, so all things considered, I'm sure the family will understand that budget cuts have to be made. This is also in light of the necessity of meeting the mrs' family for new year thereby entailing having to fork out lots of money to EasyJudas* airlines to fly to Estonia...

Any-hoo, for my dad this year I'm painting him a picture of my Grandma. A few years ago, my Grandfather died so I painted a picture of him as a memory. My grandma died a couple of weeks ago so my dad is getting a matching painting (*awwww*).

My mum has discovered the great outdoors so it's a book of walking routes for her.

And my bro...we probably just a manly handshake and a slap on the back: if he wants anyhting more I can remind him about one Christmas morning where I opened one of his presents by mistake so he kneed me in my happy sack, and I can offer to return the favour.

*http://www.b3ta.com/questions/present/post578276#answers-post-578276
(satanstolemyteddybear Mu hõljuk on angerjaid täis, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 15:00, 1 reply)

for my dad last year
my brothers and i clubbed together and i went off to fortnum & mason to buy a giant hamper. the hampers are beautiful, but they are about £100 each, and he would blatantly never use it again, so i decided to choose all the items and get fortnums to do a presentation box.

my friend and i had so much fun choosing all these ridiculous luxury food items. however, as we have always gone on holiday over christmas since my mum died, i had to remember not to get anything perishable.

we got back from holiday on nye, and these amazing boxes were in the hallway. fortnums had done an absolutely brilliant job. the boxes were wrapped in their gorgeous paper and ribbons, all co-ordinated, and then every single item was similarly wrapped inside. it took him about 2 hours to open. but something wasn't quite right.

something, to be more accurate, did not smell quite right.

and the deeper into the boxes and the stuffing my father got, and the more paper and ribbons and strawberry & champagne jams and cracked black pepper & flakes of gold leaf mustards that littered our lounge, the worse the stench became. finally, he pulled out the last package, and we all recoiled.

it turns out that stilton doesn't like it if it is kept in a warm hallway for 2 weeks. or it likes it too much. either way, it ends up smelling like a tramp's foreskin, and the lounge reeked for weeks. i have no idea how it crept in there, i can only assume that i was being dim or my friend thought that she was being funny. not that it stopped my father from eating it, i am ashamed to add, oh no...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:43, 9 replies)

There won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime.
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:25, 23 replies)

Bored Games. Just say "no" kids.
I used to dread Christmas presents that were rectangle in shape and flat because it invariably meant that I was about to receive that most dreaded of presents a lonely child can receive…a board game. Fucking bastard board games, I had a cupboard full of them when I was growing up, who the fuck was I supposed to play them with? I still hate the sight of board games.

A few years back I visited my then girlfriend at her parents house on Boxing Day. They had a present for me and her family gathered round to watch me open it. It was about the size of a shoebox and quite heavy…promising stuff. Slowly I peeled off the wrapping paper to reveal…the “Who wants to be a millionaire?” board game. *Flash* went a camera…in the photograph I look like I was laughing with joy, I was actually laughing with incredulity. I thought it might be a wind up because they couldn’t have picked a more off target present if they had tried, I don’t like TV much, I have never seen an entire episode of “Who wants to be a millionaire?”, I would break my foot before I tired of kicking Chris Tarrent in the bollocks and it was a FUCKING BOARDGAME!

It was like being seven years old again; I feigned gratitude and thanked them for the gift. I thought about flogging it but fleabay was inundated with the damn things that Christmas. I gave it to a charity shop.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:23, 7 replies)

Dear Davros' Granddad
Please please please?

www.amazon.co.uk/Extra-Large-Chimpanzee-Hand-Puppet/dp/B000WGV600/ref=pd_ys_iyr_img

He'd make me SO happy and I'd call him Bert. He's much cheaper than Jo Malone perfume :o)
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:23, 10 replies)

I wanna tell you a story...
Does anyone else remember this story from “2000 Acres of Sky”, which was a great TV series from about 2001. It was told by Paul Kaye’s character. For me it sums up what giving Christmas gifts to people you love is all about. I don’t remember it exactly, but it’s something like the following:

A long time ago, there once was a young married couple, who loved each other more than all the world. They were both very poor and made the most of what little they had. Christmas was fast approaching, and they both promised each other that they wouldn’t buy presents (how could they for they had no money?). Despite this, they were both secretly worried about how they might afford to buy the one thing that their loved one really wanted.

Now, the wife had long flowing golden hair. The husband loved everything about her, but he especially loved her hair, and would wash it for her, brush it for her and in summer he would often pick flowers to put in her hair. This made her feel wonderfully special, as she could forget their troubles and poverty for a while as he made her feel like a princess. However, there was one thing she longed for - a pretty hair clip, so that she could put her hair up when she was busy cooking or working around the house. And he wanted to buy her a hair clip more than anything.

The husband’s only possession was a battered old violin. The wife loved everything about him, but she especially loved to hear him play the violin. She loved the look of concentration on his face when he played, she loved to watch him loose himself in his tunes, and she loved more than anything to dance for hours while he played, until they were both so tired that they would collapse and fall asleep in front of the fire in each others arms. Unfortunately however, his violin strings had broken months ago, and their cold little one room cottage had been silent ever since. And she wanted to buy him new violin strings more than anything.

For weeks they could secretly think of nothing else, aside from finding a way to buy the gift they knew their beloved wanted more than anything.

On Christmas day, they both awoke with tremendous excitement, eager to give the other their gifts. Astonished and delighted that they should be receiving anything, they unwrapped their gifts together and at once the tears began to flood down their cheeks. She had somehow bought him new violin strings, and he had bought her the prettiest hair clip she had ever seen.

“How ever could you afford this?” said the wife, wiping away the tears.
“I’m so sorry” he choked, “I sold my violin to buy you the clip. Please forgive me”.
And with that, she took off her head scarf to reveal that her lovely golden hair was gone, and he at once knew that she had cut off her hair and sold it in order to buy his violin strings.

And that to me is the why Christmas is so special. It’s not about the Playstation 3 I would like and will never get, nor about the piles of socks I don’t want and always get. It’s about the look on the faces of my family when they open their presents to find something really special. And that’s all I want for Christmas.
(marcooosa has no idea what a board sig is, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:21, 13 replies)

A gift that is not to be
My fella and I both like ridiculous things. Even more so, we like ridiculous things with a potential for causing physical harm. So, imagine my delight when I found... THIS:
www.buyagift.co.uk/Product/Id/2165/Name/Segway_Rally_Race_for_Two

"Riding a Segway is an awe inspiring experience that has to be tried before you can understand how amazing it really is. Imagine a feeling like hovering above the ground at speed with complete control over any terrain."

How tacky is that?!

Sadly, the maximum weight for this is *mumble mumble* stone, and my blokey is a little more than this (more due to his freakish height than anything, which is the reason I can't get him the tank driving experience linked somewhere else on this QOTW). Please, please someone take up this utterly stupid idea!!


Also, I have asked him for jewellery from Hairy Growler Jewellery, hairygrowler.co.uk (Is sfw, despite the name!) Gorgeous designs, each handmade (and therefore unique), made from recycled bits so it's environmentally friendly too.
(Elegant Lady Vee is not my real name., Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:15, 2 replies)

one word...
BREASTENLARGEMENTANDPOSSIBLYAHONDAACCORD!
(likeajackhammer, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 14:12, 2 replies)

It was a few years ago...
When the kids wake up on Christmas morning we have a tradition of firstly giving them a small stocking filled with inexpensive nick-nacks that they open whilst sat on our bed. Once they have opened the dozen or so small packages we then go downstairs for the big boxes and expensive stuff.

wavy lines thingy .....

It was Christmas morning quite a few years ago, our son was 4 our daughter 2 and a half, and they were sat on the end of the bed with their little stockings, very very excited. It took about half an hour for them to open their presents, felt tip pens, yoyo's, Thomas the tank engine / Teletubbies pants and socks etc, total value about £15.

I was recording everything so we could show the grand parents later that day. Once they had finished opening, they carefully put everything back in their stockings and went and started drawing christmas pictures in their bedrooms. That was it. As far as they were concerned that was Christmas done, and they were over the moon with what they had. Completely unaware of the overpriced and over-hyped boxes and boxes of stuff downstairs under the tree.

I still watch the video now when I need cheering up.
( insignificantsnivellinglittleturd I Like Peas, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:57, 2 replies)

I'm getting my girlfriend a HONDA ACCORD
Apologies for length etc.
( Maximinimus you stick around I'll make it worth your while, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:54, 5 replies)

A bag and a belt for the missus
Should fix the vacuum up a treat

/old joke
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:51, Reply)

I have several nieces, nephews. All the children of vehement religious zealots.
Every year I buy them documentaries, such as David Attenborough's nature documentaries. No toys, only the education I know that they won't receive otherwise. I take my responsibilities as an uncle quite seriously.

Alternatively, I also suggest:
www.miamiherald.com/dave_barry/gift-guide/story/782141.html
It's from last year, but has some nice suggestions, such as butt glue, a Zombie Yard Sculpture, and The Uroclub - a golf club you can urinate into, for emergencies on the golf course.
(stuntsmile, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:34, Reply)

Fortunately not his year.
It came out a bit longer than I planned- Sorry
Santa's going to be away this year, so this tale goes back a few years.
[Insert your favorite wavy lines here]
My nan had an elderly neighbour/friend called Lily. One crimbo she and my nan ganged up on me with the most horrendous pressies ever. From my nan I got a pink and brown striped kipper tie circa 1970. Lily, however, got the proverbial biscuit.
Inside the stunningly thin wrapping of a plastic bag was a shirt. Not so bad you might think.
"It's one of my dead husbands" was the chilling message that came with the shirt.
Ok. Well I thought it couldn't get any worse BUT... Opening the bag revealed a pink shirt with rather wide collars. The pink had obviously faded a bit but that wasn't even the worst of it. Her husband must have been a 'small person'. Now I'm a six footer and I reckon he could have given me a blow job if he stood on tip toes.
The astute among you will see where this is going-
"Ooh, why don't you try them on?" My nan said
"Oh yes, go on" my sister's reply- never one to miss this sort of opportunity.

I tried. I really tried. But no amount of squeezing would get the top three buttons done up, the sleeves barely going past my elbows gave me the look of a ventriloquist's dummy about to take off. Coupled with the tie (which fortunately hid most of the shirt) the look was complete.
Behind the barely contained evil gleeful snigger from my sisters came those immortal lines,
"Oh yes dear, you look really smart"
All that was needed was the obligatory kiss from Lily,* who, wiping her eyes, said
"You look just like him."
I really hope he hadn't died in it.

*I only mention this because her lips were thinner than the human hair, so lipstick was applied to half her face to replicate the lipped look. At least my blushing cheeks took it in their stride.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:27, 3 replies)

Xmas bah humbug
me being an almost bankrupt out of work unix techie at the moment means my missus is gonna have to get a visit from the red ribbon i used last time i was skint, which all depends on me finding a web site that will show me how to tie nice bows on my dick. well it worked 15 yrs ago why not this yr
(collector, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 13:14, 1 reply)

Kinda on Topic
I have a feeling that I am in for a good Christmas surprise this year when I go to see my two youngest kids appear in their nursery play. I have received the cast list and found out that my daughter (the killer tree from an earlier QOTW post regarding plays) has got a singing part as Angel Gabriel- the problem is she keeps mispronouncing the lyrics so it sounds like the angels are lice infested.

The main point of fun though is that my youngest J has been cast as a sheep with the head shepherd being played by a kid that doesn’t get on with my youngest. The last rehearsal they had ended when the head shepherd hit a few of the sheep playing kids (Including my son) with his crook. This ended in a full on brawl with a pissed off flock of sheep turning on their cruel masters.

Unless there is a cast change soon I can see lice infested angels and Bethlehem being levelled in a fluffy rampage on the big night.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:52, 6 replies)

I have bought my gran...
A Wedding of Charles and Diana Commemorative Swingball Set.

No I haven't. I was just amused by the concept, so I shoehorned it into this week's QOTW.
( Kung_Fu_Russ ran out of amusing signatures on, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:49, Reply)

The first Mr Quar was the eldest of four sons
and as his parents had never had a good snap of them all together, I bullied them into having one done.

After several months of badgering, they agreed and we all piled into his brother's house. We posed in various combinations - four men together, with/without wives/fiancees/children and so on.

The result was a huge portrait of the brothers in an ornate gold frame and a book of smaller photos of the families.

This was of course a big secret and on the day, the 'rents were given the gift in front of everyone, the album coming first and the portrait as a grand finale.

It was a massive success. Both parents cried and for a few weeks afterwards, Mother would invite people in off the street to look at the big photo, in pride of place in the lounge.

He and I are divorced now and both his parents are dead, but that present still seems like the best ever to me.

I recommend doing the same if you're stuck for a gift for your old dears - they love it.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:47, 4 replies)

In which disappointment and hand-tooled leather
And another one...

It was the first Christmas of my high-school career. I was twelve years old, skinny, white as fuck and with a lovely Hilary Clinton bob. I was not, you might say, at my best.

Although I was getting on OK at school, I was eternally conscious of the fact that my peers' parents had a heckuva lot more money than mine (I was a scholarship kid) - we did have uniforms, but mine was second-hand from a girl who lived in the same village as me and was about 4ft 10 and quite rotund. It did look a bit daft - skirt held together with safety pins, torn pockets, fingerless gloves Oliver Twist whinge whinge blah. As everyone knows, though, when you have a school uniform it's the little things you do or have that make you stand out. Tiny things, insignificant to the adult eye, that mark you out as cool or not. The way you knot your tie. How long you leave the secondary part of it hanging down. How many buttons you do on your blazer (none! ever!), how you do your hair, how you knot your shoelaces.

And then of course, there's your bag.

Despite going to a school Nazi-ish enough to stipulate in the rulebook the exact height of shoes, brand of swimming costume and colour of hair bobbles one was permitted to wear, bags were a free-for-all. Those were the heady days of the brightly-coloured Head rucksack and the Adidas holdall. I can still remember the bag my longstanding crush touted for five years (Willys, mustard yellow with a reflective stripe and a chunky zip.) I, on the other hand, was in a bit of a fix, bagwise. I had a plain, slightly foetid, thin black canvas drawstring with a single strap. Sort of like a slightly more sturdy version of a primary school PE kit bag.

It wasn't branded
It wasn't brightly-coloured
It wasn't bloody waterproof

It was the millstone around my neck, the shameful burden I was forced to bear. And the single strip dug into my shoulder something rotten on the mile walk to the bus stop.

I hated it. It was beginning to exact comment from some of the louder, bitchier members of my class. And I wasn't yet anywhere near secure enough to carry it off. This bag - this wretched, second-hand, flimsy horror - could be my undoing. I was savvy enough to know that. The vultures were beginning to circle. And so, for Christmas, I asked for a rucksack.

I knew the one I wanted. It was a modest beigey mushroom colour, with a nice front pocket. It had two straps and reflective bits. Best of all, it was Quiksilver. Quiksilver! My cool rating would go through the roof. It was about twenty-five quid, which was slightly more then than it is now (but only slightly.) And so began my stealth campaign.

'Dad. Daaaaad! You know that shop in the town? The one next to the arcade? Yeah? The sports one? Yeah? There's a rucksack in the window. It's beige. I've seenitandireallythinkitwouldimprovemyacademicperformanceif - '

'Don't worry,' said Dad, with an overexaggerated wink. 'I think I know what you mean. You'll just have to wait and see what Santa brings you, eh?'

Brilliant! My plan was coming together, in all awesomeness. Christmas arrived, and the parcels were placed under the tree. There was the one from my parents I'd been after. I duly poked and squeezed and assessed the undeniably baglike contents. Not long now, I thought to myself, after enduring another round of snarky comments on the school bus. Not long.

Come Christmas morning, and all is shiny and bright. There's a tradition in my family of opening our presents slowly at individual intervals throughout the day, and so it was afternoon before it was my turn. With a look of great pride and collusion, my parents pushed the bag-shaped parcel towards me. My hands itched as I carefully peeled away the sellotape. This was it. This was...

This was not it.

This was a rectangular, brown leather briefcase, something between that which could have belonged to a nineteenth-century doctor and a down-at-heel telemarketing executive. It was a briefcase. A briefcase. To take this out of the house, let alone to school, would be social suicide. No. Social jihad. Even the smelliest old teacher didn't have a briefcase. To a twelve-year-old neurotic girl, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone.

I looked at the briefcase. It seemed to glow with the fires of the hell of mockery into which I would be cast forever come next term. Then I looked up at my Dad's face. He was beaming with joy, oblivious.
'Now I know you said you wanted a bag,' he explained, 'but I thought I'd get you something a bit special for doing well at your new school. It's real leather. Cost quite a bit, but it'll last for years. There's a special compartment to put your pencil case it, here. And....' (with the flourish of a magician performing his best conjuring trick...'I had them engrave your initials on it. Just under the handle there. See?'

I saw.

'So that everyone will know it's yours.'

I stared at the briefcase, then back at my dad, who had gone way out of his way and probably budget too to make his only daughter happy. I gave him a massive hug and told him it was just what I wanted.
(jennymnemonic, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:21, 16 replies)

present to my mum from her father
my grandad died suddely of a heart attack a few years back at the fairly grand old age of 83. he was generally in good health so it came as quite a shock to my mum, so i volunteered to clear out his flat for her, sorting the stuff we wanted to keep and getting the rest of it to the charity shop. one thing i didn't give her, or even mention that i'd found, was a big box of old cine films from the 70s. I took them home, begged a projector off a mate and went through the lot. absolute gold mine that had me in floods of tears. I set about digitising the lot (don't send it off to be done, it's incredibly easy to do yourself), editing it down into two dvds, making menus and all that nonsense.

gave them to my mum for christmas - the first one was full of footage from holidays my parents had been on with her mum and dad to the isle of wight, cornwall and all that, some with me and my sister as toddlers in, all very cute, but the second was a recording of a large chunk of my parents' wedding - a recording that they had no idea even existed. can't really imagine what a shock that would be, but my folks were utterly speechless. the end of the footage is the only time where my grandad gave the camera to my nan to do a bit of filming and it fades out on him grinning warmly into the camera. even typing this is choking me up a bit.

don't think i'll ever really be able to top that to be honest, so i'll probably get her some smellies and a drawing done by my kids this year.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:20, 6 replies)

My parents
have spent the past 5 years or so bemoaning the fact that us kids are not reproducing - bearing in mind that I'm the oldest of 4, and only 27, it's not that surprising, but still, my mother has been desperate for grandkids for a long long time.

So this year they are getting their first Christmas as grandparents, with my baby boy, who will be 12 weeks old on boxing day. Sadly I doubt this will be enough of a present for them so I've got dad a potato ricer and mum a book to supplement the novelty of a baby in the house.

he's quite cute though (I know, I know, I'm biased - but he is, right?!)

( ascorbate, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:15, 21 replies)

Presents
Mrs. Wallnut wants me to donate to Children in Need for her, which I will gladly do.
What she doesn't know is that I'm getting her a Bonsai tree and book on how to keep it alive

Not funny but true...
(wallnut, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:14, Reply)

Christmas!
It's the first Christmas for me and the new Mr Cakelady, so I want to spoil him rotten. Like me, he loves good food, good wine, and BBC documentaries, so he's getting:

-wine gift set
-olives
-cheeseboard
-Space series
-Universe series

...and the last gift, which'll be me, wrapped in something lacy from La Senza :D
( cakelady, Fri 27 Nov 2009, 12:06, 5 replies)

I know what I want for christmas

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBO2U7SZ5qs&feature=related
(fibonacci_cunt cunt, cunt, cuntcunt, cuntcuntcunt,..., Fri 27 Nov 2009, 11:58, 2 replies)