Just what I've always wanted [antikvár]

flti, illllll^ 6 Foreword Like many people, I love giving presents; hoiuever, as everyone in this world gets busier if they have a job, and shorter of money if they haven't, sometimes the pain of worrying what to give can almost outweigh the pleasure of giving. Many a stout heart sinks at the sight of a lengthening Christmas gift list, thinking of the worry, time and effort it will involve, as well as an expenditure that might well solve some third world country's balance ofpayment problem. In my family, we have a money limit on Christmas gifts, which sometimes leads to argument. ("How could you possibly have bought mum a Penny Black for under ten quid?") Some of the nicest gifts cost nothing. One of the most thoughtful and loving gifts I ever received was from my mother-in-law-to-be, who gave me for Christmas a collection ofphotographs of my bridegroom as a little boy. It's only the thought that counts if there has been some thought, which doesn't always include that involved in recycling gifts from other people. But be careful that your thought suits the recipient, not yourself. My eight-year-old son once proudly handed me on my birthday a cigar box into which was jammed a dead, flea-riddled rat. He clearly thought that I'd adore it as much as he did. ("But you loved the fossilized stoat's head I gave you last Christmas ") This same son, when twelve years old, was handy with a toolbox; tired of being expected to do all the nasty little jobs that I couldn't, he gave me a birthday gift of six pink cards marked 10 U One Nasty Job'; he is now 39 and I still have three of them; as I saved these up for really desperate occasions, I quickly found that I was less helpless than I thought.