I’ve had it with buying gifts for my man

The only Christmas gifts I have bought so far are two small, beautiful paintings by a young art student at Edinburgh University. That is it. I can't imagine what would delight my family - all of whom have too much stuff already. My teenage daughter could open her own market stall with the jewellery she owns and never wears.

At least the credit crunch gives me a virtuous excuse for this inertia. "Not a good time to splash out" sounds so much better than the truth -- which is that I don't want to buy presents this year, especially not for my beloved man. He's intellectually stimulating, affectionate, funny, open - but impossible when it comes to gifts.

It's not fair to shop him, I know, but our house is scattered with presents bought in years gone by which lie untouched and definitely unloved.

There is the canoe, smart white and raring to go. Only it is stuck upright in the soil behind the shed; maybe it will sprout leaves one day. Every time I see it, my blood pressure rises. "Shall I give it away?" I enquire. "No, it's mine." "But you never touch it." "I will next year, promise, I need to get a licence." "You said that last year."

Then there's the video camera (a species now extinct), bought because he said it would be good to record moments with my dear old mum and to catch our daughter as she was changing so fast. It didn't happen, of course. The box lies like an unburied coffin on top of a shelf, ignored and beautified with cobwebs.

Meanwhile, he likes old black-and-white horror movies and can never watch them because the rest of us don't share the enthusiasm. So one year I bought him a dinky mobile DVD player so that he can go off and enjoy his bloodthirsty vampires. It has been used once.

A trip in a hot air balloon was fine, he said, but too pricey, and the scenery below was vapid. Suits? Has more than enough already and suffers from socialist guilt over that. Maybe it is a man thing to whip up guilt over clothes. Or is he trying to make me feel bad about my too-many glad rags?

But December is here again and I am still stuck for ideas. Maybe I'll give him a promissory note to go to bed early enough at least twice a week and never plead a headache. A free gift - and no shopping involved.