One was a plate with a cockerel on, and a ruddy great black crack down the middle. Not an antique or anything, mind. See, Man is selling his flat and doing a major de-clutter. He had mentioned a couple of weeks ago to mum: 'Remember that plate in my kitchen? Do you want it?', to which she replied she didn't remember the one he was talking about, but if he brought it over sometime she'd have a look and see if she liked the design or not. She thought no more about it, until it appeared gift wrapped; and no, she never did like it anyway.

Second present: a framed picture of chickens; again, from his flat, and she had admired it. Man had also said he knew the artist, who is now dead. On closer inspection, it isn't a watercolour, but the photo of a watercolour painting, with the mounting visible in the corners and 'Kodak' on the back.

In the middle of the night (after he'd gone to bed, leaving her to clear up), mum went down for a drink and discovered the cat (who is a trouble maker) had been at the presents and chewed a corner of wrapping off a box. Mum went to repair the damage and realised she recognised the packaging. So she mended the tear in the paper, which she'd then have to look surprised and pleased about the next day, despite it being a box of Nairn's oat cakes. The ones she buys two or three packets of a week. This wasn't an ironic or jokey present.

Fourth present, and the one you'd hope would save the day, was a plastic birdfeeder. You know, one of the basic still ones. And no, it didn't come with nuts in it. Still, it'll match the four she has outside quite nicely.

For the record, ONE of his presents from her was a case of really posh wine. Seriously. Why does she bother?'

Why indeed?