Now that I’m more or less back to full fitness, Mrs Snowman has decided it’s time to venture out and perform that most distressing of annual tasks…the Christmas shopping.

    Although may last trip to the shops with the wife went less than well (see previous entry) it will be a triumph of Herculean proportions in comparison to this.

    Very unpleasant memories fill my head of last years trek, and it’s not one I really want to go through again. Sadly however, unless I have a burning desire to spend the festive season with a Christmas tree inserted into my rectum I have no option but to comply with her wishes.

    Twelve months ago she insisted we make an early start to avoid the bulk of like-minded shoppers. This plan seemed quite acceptable until I realised what time she actually meant. When the bedclothes were flung back by a fully dressed wife I immediately thought I’d overslept and spent the next twenty minutes rushing around like a thing possessed, convinced the car parks would be completely full by the time we reached the shops. It was only when I was manhandled outside the front door and a blast of cold air dragged me from semi-consciousness that I fully realised her idea of early.

    It was still dark.

    A glance at my watch and prod towards the car confirmed my worst fears.

    6.00am.

    In heavy traffic it takes about twenty minutes to reach the city centre. We got there in just under five…and the shops didn’t open for almost another two hours. My intuition told me even the most politely structured question would result in a rapid meeting between my head and the steering wheel so I bit my lip and left the car park trying to keep up with Mrs. Snowman who appeared to be in training for the Olympic 50km walk. The streets were deserted and for a moment I almost considered suggesting we wait in the warmth of the car but the determined look on her face suggested I’d be chasing a couple of very important parts of my anatomy down the road if I tried. However, when we reached the pedestrian shopping area the scene was anything but desolate. Every shop had queues of chattering wives snaking past their windows, each spouse accompanied by a bleary eyed, pissed off looking husband, disconsolately shuffling from one foot to the other with their hands thrust deep in their pockets.

    It was the pre-Christmas sales.

    We took our place in one of the lines and the wife immediately launched into a conversation with the woman next to her about potential savings on lace underwear. I backed away when it switched to operation scars. Luckily I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

    There seemed to be camaraderie between strangers, a meeting of minds instinctively joined through generations of evolutionary symbiosis.

    Until the doors opened.

    It was carnage. Women who ten minutes earlier were sharing intimate medical secrets were now beating each other to death with their handbags in a race to save ten per cent on a chicken-shaped egg timer that would never leave it’s box. The shoe department looked like a medieval battlefield.

    Anyway, after listening to her suggestion I feigned a relapse of my flu and managed to postpone the trip for a few days. Even if I can’t completely worm my way out of it, this year I’m taking the precaution of wearing body armour.

    One thing I did complete today was a stint at the low value poker tables. Two and a half hours to make $1.20 may not be the greatest of profits but at least I didn’t lose anything. I chose my bets well and played conservatively, avoiding the donkeys with a combination of stupidity and blind luck. All I have to do now is figure out a way of avoiding the gift shopping.

    There is of course the Snowman method of choosing Christmas presents. You might wan to try it; this year, very carefully unwrap everything on Christmas morning making sure none of the wrapping paper is damaged. Re-cover everything you don’t really want, tape it back down and send it out again next year to different people. Although it’s a cheap and effective way of doing the shopping you still have to be careful. Last year, two people received the same things they sent out and my friend’s wife got an electric drill. I’m only thankful a last minute check ensured my mother-in-law didn’t receive the life sized inflatable doll with a lubricated vagina.

Starting bank:  $0