Peter Florence
Best gift received: my father gave me a tie he wore in the film of A Hard Day’s Night, which was given to him by Paul McCartney.
Worst gift given: aside from the occasional thoughtless pot of Clarins night cream I grab at airports for my wife, the worst was mis-addressing a larky have-a-bottle-on-me gift to a friend and sending it to my newly bereaved grandmother.
Maggie Gee
For much of my life I have been a compulsive present-giver, probably because I grew up in the spartan 1950s, when decorative objects were in short supply. Come my student days, my tiny scholarship somehow gave me enough money to start acquiring, and passing on, the new treasure trove of the 1960s. Gorgeous red paper poppies, bright enamel coffee-pots, suddenly fashionable moth-eaten fox-furs; old things were the best—I bought and gave away a beautiful eggshell-thin Chinese tea-service, a black and gold lacquered box with a ladder of secret drawers, a feather boa.
Present-giving is related to your life-cycle, though. When you have a small daughter and lots of children about, you pick up and distribute every bright tiny thing that catches your eye, a gallimaufry of balls and bells and kaleidoscopes and squeakers, but in the passage between children and (perhaps) grandchildren I am in now, presents lose point. Most friends of my age have enough objects and are giving the excess away: presents must be virtual, vegetable (flowers, plants), edible or potable.
The worst present I was ever given was a Cross leather filofax, its diary, embarrassingly, three years out of date—though I did pity the resourceful recycler, in case she ever realises there was a dated diary section.
The best, from my 20-year-old daughter Rosa, was a hand-made voucher inscribed "Mum and Dort do Salzburg, The Reprise! 31 Jan-2 Feb, PAID, Flights + Accommodation - Happy Christmas!"—complete with tiny photos of things I had loved the first time we went, when she was 15—the fountain the children danced around in The Sound of Music, the see-saw from the playground, the logo of Stiegl beer. And Ryanair flew us to two days of perfect snow-bound contentment. A gift that can never break or fade, that will make me happy till the day I die, sweet Dort.
Kishwer Falkner
My best gift at Christmas 2007 was a mug painted by my 10 year old daughter. The worst one was that year too: a mug painted by my husband. It wasn't too bad, but I was expecting something sparkly to wear on my finger. Must have read the tealeaves wrong! My hints are less subtle, now.
More: Jemima Khan, Jon Snow and others tell Prospect about their best presents—and the worst—here
Best gift received: my father gave me a tie he wore in the film of A Hard Day’s Night, which was given to him by Paul McCartney.
Worst gift given: aside from the occasional thoughtless pot of Clarins night cream I grab at airports for my wife, the worst was mis-addressing a larky have-a-bottle-on-me gift to a friend and sending it to my newly bereaved grandmother.
Maggie Gee
For much of my life I have been a compulsive present-giver, probably because I grew up in the spartan 1950s, when decorative objects were in short supply. Come my student days, my tiny scholarship somehow gave me enough money to start acquiring, and passing on, the new treasure trove of the 1960s. Gorgeous red paper poppies, bright enamel coffee-pots, suddenly fashionable moth-eaten fox-furs; old things were the best—I bought and gave away a beautiful eggshell-thin Chinese tea-service, a black and gold lacquered box with a ladder of secret drawers, a feather boa.
Present-giving is related to your life-cycle, though. When you have a small daughter and lots of children about, you pick up and distribute every bright tiny thing that catches your eye, a gallimaufry of balls and bells and kaleidoscopes and squeakers, but in the passage between children and (perhaps) grandchildren I am in now, presents lose point. Most friends of my age have enough objects and are giving the excess away: presents must be virtual, vegetable (flowers, plants), edible or potable.
The worst present I was ever given was a Cross leather filofax, its diary, embarrassingly, three years out of date—though I did pity the resourceful recycler, in case she ever realises there was a dated diary section.
The best, from my 20-year-old daughter Rosa, was a hand-made voucher inscribed "Mum and Dort do Salzburg, The Reprise! 31 Jan-2 Feb, PAID, Flights + Accommodation - Happy Christmas!"—complete with tiny photos of things I had loved the first time we went, when she was 15—the fountain the children danced around in The Sound of Music, the see-saw from the playground, the logo of Stiegl beer. And Ryanair flew us to two days of perfect snow-bound contentment. A gift that can never break or fade, that will make me happy till the day I die, sweet Dort.
Kishwer Falkner
My best gift at Christmas 2007 was a mug painted by my 10 year old daughter. The worst one was that year too: a mug painted by my husband. It wasn't too bad, but I was expecting something sparkly to wear on my finger. Must have read the tealeaves wrong! My hints are less subtle, now.
More: Jemima Khan, Jon Snow and others tell Prospect about their best presents—and the worst—here
