Present and Correct: Shopping

This week I have eight presents to buy : there are two weddings, one new baby and five birthdays (brother-in- law, husband, teenage godson, 2nd oldest friend and next door neighbour). It's keeping me awake at night. Why do I find it so agonising? Are my standards too high? Other people are happy to choose things that they know will be perfectly well received, but why isn't that enough for me? Don't I have enough on my plate with a new novel careering towards its deadline and a high spirited two year old to entertain?

Perhaps I am a megalomaniac but I like the presents I give to have a transforming potential. At the very least they should nod to some fledgling tendency or desire in the recipient that I wish to encourage. Or they should heal, or compensate, or rescue or set the stage for a bright new act, all with my blessing of course. For surely a good present should indicate, if nothing else, that Something has been Understood (by me).

To make matters worse the best presents I have ever given keep flashing through my mind to torment me : the stack of 8 linen pillowcases embroidered in grey with the word SAVOY that I found at Brick Lane market for ten pounds; the five foot chocolate flake I lugged back from Gay Odin in Naples; the vertiginous gold and lizard skin evening sandals I bought for an arm and a leg in Selfridges for my favourite neighbour who needed a boost; the red flower-paterned spice rack I chose for my mother from BUYRIGHTS when I was six that quite literally reeked of continental sophistication.

Yet I realise not every present will attain these heights. I may like gifts to correspond acutely to some half-hidden wish within my friends and family, causing hearts to crack a little, but I do see this won't happen every time.

Today I met my second oldest friend for a birthday lunch armed with two excellent new novels I greatly admire both in hardback both signed by the authors (The Gift by David Flusfeder and Daughters of Jerusalem by Charlotte Mendelsohn). My friend was very pleased of course. Yet for me the giving was disappointing. Somehow the present did not acknowledge the fact that she has one of the most serious and stressful jobs of anyone I know (working as a physiotherapist in an understaffed neurosurgery unit) to which she gives her all, and now I feel bad. It does not seem right that the gift I chose only takes into account one aspect of her personality. Would it be crass to slip her the smallest size new Alexander McQueen perfume as a frivolous after thought when we meet again next week or a vial of Dior Show's limited edition mascara in violet to make the present more rounded, more complete?

Frequently now I find myself feeling deflated after giving. The little epiphanies of intimacy and taste I seek seem to be eluding me and it's making me lose my nerve. This week I bought a sweet present for a new baby (3 tiny cable knit cotton cardigans in pink, white and blue-£10 each from Marks and Spencer). But the following day I saw something more lovely in John Lewis (a high class china Peter Rabbit tea set that Mum can play with now until baby is old enough) and bought that too, only to be tempted again that very afternoon by a boxed set of 50 thick white cards and envelopes specially printed with the baby's name for all that early correspondence, from The Nursery Emporium. What am I doing stockpiling gifts for one so little known to me? Where will it end?