Wrapping is not one of my gifts

THE FRIDAY THING: MY five days of Christmas (not 12 because we are supposed to be economising) involve a beloved granddaughter’s birthday, a wedding anniversary — 20 this year (I know the poor woman should either be canonised or certified) — and of course, Christmas itself.

I love it all, with one notable exception: the mysteries of origami, otherwise known as wrapping up presents.

I would go as far as to say that when it comes to making parcels I am ham-fisted and ten-thumbed.

Herself has taken photographs of some of my efforts to show to friends; others she would have photographed except she couldn’t keep the camera still because of her fits of uncontrolled laughter.

Those smug, arty-farty, nimble-fingered bods who can wrap up any shape, including triangles and spheres blindfolded and with one hand (I once tried to wrap up a football, used up all my paper without succeeding and so kept the ball and bought something square instead) shake their heads in astonishment at my sorry inability and say in that patronising tone that would certainly make homicide justifiable.

“But it’s so easy, you just get the right size of paper and . . .”

And on they go talking of folding, turning, slicing and then writing the gift tag (something I must confess I usually forget). I once wrapped an umbrella to give to a friend for her birthday and she looked at it with mock horror (I think it was mock, but I’m not so sure) and said: “Is it a mummy?”

There’ll be much merriment round the tree again this year and the usual and frightfully unfunny: “Is that the paper for throwing away?”




THE perpetually miserable-looking Vince Cable (the image of an undertaker from the pages of Charles Dickens) is taking part in a Christmas special “Strictly Come Dancing”, though how he’s going to dance with his foot in his mouth is something of a mystery.


Vince, beguiled by two young and pretty women at a constituency surgery, boasted and bragged so much about how he was really running the country; how he’d get rid of media mogul Rupert Murdoch and how he would bring down the Coalition Government when the mood took him. Silly old fool. Most of us, at one time or another, have said daft things to try to impress pretty girls but most of us are not Government ministers and so do not find our ramblings occupying pages of the Daily Telegraph.

Did David Cameron sack the mad rambler? No, he merely rapped his knuckles, which says more about the fragility of the coalition than it does about Cameron. Or indeed, Vince.


FINAL WORD: A first time ever sighting this week . . . council workmen out in Uppermill spreading sand and grit, not on the main roads but the pavements. No, I’d not been at the Lagavulin. Thanks Charlie and the boys.