Christmas, we are told, is a season of joy, goodwill, and togetherness. It is also, in my family at least, a season of questionable presents.
Take my sister in law. Now, she is a kind and generous soul, but when it comes to gift buying, let’s just say she has a unique approach. Her festive shopping strategy consists of sprinting into Boots, grabbing the nearest item, and escaping via the self-service till before human interaction can occur.
This explains why, for as long as I’ve known her, she has bought me shampoo every Christmas. A thoughtful gift, you might think—except I lost my hair well over 30 years ago. Still, I smile, unwrap the bottle, and pop it in the cupboard. After all, it’s the thought that counts.
Her gift-giving philosophy is simple: identify an interest, then buy the first vaguely related item. When our son was five, dinosaurs were his world. Auntie, eager to please, bought him a “DVD about dinosaurs.”
On Christmas morning, he tore off the wrapping paper to reveal Dinosaur Killers from Mars, rated 18. “I thought it was a natural history DVD,” she explained meekly, under the combined glare of her brother and my raised eyebrows.
Yet her kindness is boundless. Parcels arrived throughout the year, addressed to the children from “Auntie and Grannie.” When our son was 8, one contained an Xbox game. I’ve learned to check the age rating before handing anything over—once bitten, twice shy. This one looked safe: suitable for ages seven and up, involving rabbits. Zombie rabbits, as it turned out.
All seemed well until I heard karate shouts and shooting noises from the sitting room. Investigating, I discovered the game involved chasing and dispatching virtual bunnies. Horrified, I swiftly consigned it to the cupboard of “Toys We Shall Never See Again,” alongside Dinosaur Killers from Mars.
Our son, puzzled, asked why I disliked the game. I explained, as I often do, that we don’t encourage violence. Power Rangers were banned, toy weapons frowned upon. “But why?” he asked.
So, I told him a story.
Years ago, I co-owned a restaurant and nightclub in Bournemouth. My business partner decided we should expand to Prague. Against my better judgment, we did. Each month, I flew out to oversee the accounts and keep things running.
The Czech Republic was still adjusting to EU membership. Governance was evolving, but the nightclub scene remained firmly rooted in the 1970s. Conflict management meant one thing: throw troublemakers out. Customer service was not a concept the door staff embraced.
One evening, a scuffle broke out. A man was ejected, only to return moments later, brandishing a pistol of the ex Soviet variety. He demanded entry, waving the gun at me. I stood my ground. “You are NOT coming in here with THAT!” I declared, attempting to channel a butch version of Dame Edith Evans.
Miraculously, he hesitated, muttered, and left. Only later did I realise how close things had come. From that day forward, I vowed never to tolerate weapons in any form—real or virtual.
And so, zombie rabbits were banished, Lego Harry Potter reinstated, and my son given yet another lecture about peace and play.
But here’s the thing: despite the shampoo, the DVDs, and the occasional terrifying Xbox game, I wouldn’t change Auntie’s presents for the world. They are part of the fabric of our family Christmas. They make us laugh, they give us stories to retell, and they remind us that generosity comes in many forms—even if it’s wrapped in cellophane from Boots.
Because Christmas isn’t really about the perfect present. It’s about the imperfect ones—the gifts that make us chuckle, the moments that become family legend, and the kindness behind them all. And in that sense, my sister in law is the very spirit of Christmas.
Can I take this opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy New Year.
By Nick Adams-King, Hampshire County Council leader
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