Before my post later today on the importance of horror fiction (and perhaps also reality…), I have something that I need to relate.
I am notoriously difficult to buy presents for. Ever since attaining a disposable income, I have tended to buy exactly that which I am after. My parents have had some success with buying me presents because they can either pre-empt what I’d want (such as a gentleman’s umbrella) or else find it before I am able to (such as a gentleman’s umbrella: so very difficult to find!).
I am now in this same bind myself – in five days, my brother turns nineteen. He has a car, has just bought a house/flat/base of operations and lives in the Frozen Wastes of the North.
I don’t know what to buy him.
I called him to ask him what he wants. He doesn’t know. I called my parents for suggestions. They don’t know.