With minimal shopping days left until Christmas, the Nearly-Beloved descends into panic mode. Apparently, Amazon Prime no longer guarantees delivery before the big day, so my ‘special present’ may not arrive in time. I raise an eyebrow in mock surprise. After all, I’m used to a hastily wrapped box of chocolates and wilting bouquet from the local garage. Plus, the usual ‘desperate husband’ Christmas Eve shopping spree is no longer a possibility since two of Sheffield’s go-to department stores have now closed down. Sniffing an opportunity, I suggest a day out in York. His face falls until he realises his only other option is to brave the virusy pits of Meadowhell. At least York is full of pubs…
We head for a drink to recover from the trauma of the delayed rail trip, full of the rule-defying unmasked. But pubs are safe, apparently. Omicron only inhabits public transport, shops and work spaces – it can’t handle a pint of bitter. Besides, this local hostelry is unseasonably empty. Some people at least have cancelled their Christmas parties…
As we split up and I browse the market stalls, I come across a few extras for Darling Daughter and some fun stocking fillers for Grunting Teen, who, for once, has impressed me. No need to pick up presents on his behalf this year. ‘Already sorted, mum, innit,’ he tells me, looking with an air of superiority at his dad. ‘Thanks Polly’, I whisper under my breath, knowing that this uncharacteristic preparedness is totally down to his pocket-sized girlfriend.
And although I’m not a shopper by nature, I’m enjoying this outdoor experience. Indoor retail therapy, with pandemic restrictions, simply doesn’t work for me. I’m now of an age where I need my specs to peruse any purchases. And while I can negotiate my way blindfold round the local supermarket, any unknown store presents a great risk. If bifocals and masks are involved, I only have a ten second window of opportunity before the world goes misty and I crash into the nearest display. I’ve tried snug-fitting face coverings, anti-fog lens atomisers and downwards breathing. But I’ve found from bitter experience that the suffocated, mace-spray-wielding, Darth-Vader look doesn’t go down well with in-house security guards.
At least here I can breathe easily and see where I’m going. And today there’s no rush either. I’ve already got my main gifts, bought from Sheffield independents as my way of thanking them for staying open throughout difficult times. I’ve had it with the John Lewis’s of this world. And internet shopping is currently in my bad books too, citing delivery problems to non-UK addresses. This means my Lost Boy in the Netherlands will go present-less this Christmas. Thank goodness, he’s his father’s son and hastily suggests we just have a zoom call on the day, instead of ‘sending unnecessary stuff’. And he’s right. For if nothing else, the pandemic has taught me that it’s people not presents that count. So, I’ve sent him a thoughtful card with heartfelt words of love.
Still, it’s nice to look at ‘stuff’ which differs from the ubiquitous chain store offerings. And every now and then I come across some lovely earrings or a pretty scarf that would be ideal to open on Christmas Day. I take a snap and post to the Family WhatsApp. There’s nothing like a subtle hint…
As I arrive at the station to rendezvous with the Nearly-Beloved, I wonder why he looks guilty and out of breath. Is that a box of chocolates poking out from his bag?
‘Did you buy what you needed?’ I ask.
He nods unconvincingly. And with a wife’s innate detective skills it’s not long before I uncover the truth. It so happened that rugby was on the pub’s big screen, shopping skipped his mind, and the WhatsApp photos were all in vain. Let’s hope he has some particularly well-thought-out words of love to accompany those garage flowers. And that special present had better turn out to be very special indeed …
