What is it with these women and presents?

PAV’S PATCH: IN recent times I’ve come under attack from my female colleagues.

One of them, a genuinely nice lady, has found it necessary to call me a ruddy miserable slob, or words to that effect.

She added that unless I perk my ideas up I can say goodbye to ever enjoying another moment of romance. Actually, I gave up on that a long time ago.

The reason for such vitriol being directed at me is my total and utter inability to understand why women get so much pleasure from spending money on cards and little presents.

A woman in an adjacent office has got engaged. This has caused great excitement among just about every other female in the building and over the last few days there has been a steady stream of ladies bearing gifts.

Sorry if I sound miserable, but I really cannot understand why they were motivated to do this — especially as the girl in question has been living with her future husband for years and has a child.

One of my oldest friends has recently celebrated his silver wedding. Did I ring him, send him a card, buy a bottle of bubbly? Did I chuff. I don’t acknowledge anyone’s birthday. In fact, I don’t know when the vast majority of my friends have their birthday, or how old they are, and I don’t care. I certainly don’t send anyone a card, not even my sons or my sister and her family.

I get three cards on my birthday, all unnecessary, and as soon as it’s April 13 they go in the recycling. What a waste of money.

The whole leaving-collection thing escapes me. Fred quits the firm, and people are queuing up to stick fivers and tenners in an envelope.

Why? I put in a quid no matter who or what. Is it a competition?

I’ve never had a leaving collection and I can’t say it’s ever bothered me. Let’s face it, they’ve forgotten who you are the following week.

A woman left our place the other day and got all mushy because they gave her a bunch of flowers.

What do you do with dead plants wrapped in paper? I’d rather have a bag of chips.

But don’t let any of this persuade you that I’m unromantic or unadventurous.

In the days I could indulge in a little passion between the sheets I always used to make sure there was a mirror by the bed.

However, this wasn’t out of kinkiness you understand. It was to hold up to the woman’s face to make sure she had only fallen asleep.