On presents, and the scenic route

We’ve been married for almost five and a half years now, but I only found out this week that my wife thinks nothing of opening a present before Christmas. Evidently there is some sort of tiered system, depending on the provenance of the gift and whether it will fit in her bag on our way to stay with her family in France. Opening them after Christmas doesn’t even factor into the list of options.

I, on the other hand, have been raised to stare at all of my presents until the morning of the 25th, at which point they can be revealed in whatever glory they possess at my age. At some point late in childhood we were able to convince our parents that it was traditional somewhere in the world to open one present before you go to bed on Christmas Eve.

Despite the age old cliche, I was this week forced to buy myself some new socks – I just don’t have a reliable supply of them guaranteed at this time of year. Although perhaps if I opened all my presents early like certain people I’d have more clarity on the situation. It’s better this way, really, I’m quite particular about what I’ll put on my feet. Socks are simply not the place to make a statement.

I write all this from the back of a car, which isn’t somewhere I find myself very often I must admit. I’m spotting things on the M25 that I’ve never seen before – mostly trees and some interesting animals (horses). I have seen horses before, and trees of course, but I’ve never had the opportunity to appreciate the scenic qualities of the capital’s orbital road. It’s one of the great paradoxes of the motorway, I feel – everything looks beautiful from its concreted vantage point, but if you were to explore the picturesque areas you’d find them blighted by the ugliness of the major through route. It’s all about perspective, isn’t it. Like the fact that Laura hasn’t even had the chance to open her main present from me because it hasn’t arrived on time. In her face.