The sad case of the chap who gave his girlfriend a fire extinguisher for Christmas has highlighted the challenge men face when buying presents, writes Frank McNally.
That the hapless gift-giver was a psychologist has only added to his shame in being used to illustrate a survey by social scientists that appears to confirm a link between possession of the Y-chromosome and underdeveloped shopping skills. Whatever about the rest of us, you would think a psychologist might have special insight into what his woman wanted. This makes the misjudgment seem all the worse.
Clearly he calculated that the relationship had moved past the "come on baby, light my fire" stage, to something more mature. He chose the extinguisher (wrapping it in a tasteful bow) to show that he was "practical and looking out for her safety".
The mercy, in the circumstances, is she didn't use it on him. She just dumped him, shortly afterwards.
Reporting their findings in a University of Chicago journal, the study's authors suggested that women should rely less on dropping hints to partners about suitable gifts, and be more direct. Men were urged to ask more questions. And importantly, they were also advised to avoid trying to compensate for lack of research by overspending.
Unfortunately, the tortured relationship between men and presents is as old as the Christmas story itself. Maybe, like me, you have often wondered why we are told that the baby Jesus was wrapped in "swaddling" clothes. We never see the word in any other context, yet the Bible is quite insistent. The angel even mentions it to the shepherds (Luke 2:12): "And this shall be a sign unto you; ye shall find the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." "Swaddling", according to my dictionary, means wrapping in "bandages" or "strips of cloth". Could the angel have been dropping a hint about what Joseph and Mary would like as a present? Note the curious use of italics: was the angel winking at the time, to emphasise the clue? We don't know. But if it was a hint, it was lost on the listeners. And despite the fact that the shepherds later "made known abroad" (Luke 2:17) all that they had seen at the stable, it was lost on others too.
In a classic male tactic, the three "wise" men did what we all do at 5pm on Christmas Eve, when panic sets in: they substituted expense for thought. OK, gold is something you can never have enough of when you have a new baby. But frankincense and myrrh, both of which are defined by the dictionary as "aromatic gum resins"? You can imagine what Mary said when they left, and her still with a swaddled baby.
Speaking of Christmas stories, but a very different one, the claim by Belfast loyalist Michael Stone that his fake gun-and-bomb attack on Stormont was a work of "performance art" is not as implausible as it first sounded. Stranger things have won the Turner Prize. Had he entered his project in time, it might at least have made this year's short list.
He mentions Picasso as a particular inspiration, which is also plausible. The cubists sought to reproduce solid forms in complex but apparently random arrangements of geometrical shapes. So you can see where Stone was going with his plan for Stormont.
Art lovers everywhere will hope that he has plenty of time to pursue his studies back in jail. But as for his apology to anyone "adversely affected" by his work, perhaps a more concrete gesture is required. There's a risk that his precedent may inspire other performance artists, less careful than he is. So as a Christmas present for Stormont security staff, what about a nice fire extinguisher?
Still on Christmas stories, the case of Britain's Bishop of Southwark continues to mystify, despite his best efforts to clear it up. As you may have heard, the Right Rev Tom Butler left a drinks reception at the Irish embassy in London earlier this month and arrived home some time later that night without his mobile phone and with injuries including a black eye.
He told his congregation next day that he had been mugged. But he now admits he cannot remember anything about his journey home. Meanwhile, police have dropped an investigation into the mugging claim.
In an interview with the BBC, the bishop denied being drunk at the time, saying he was always "very careful" at embassy receptions. On the other hand, witnesses have described a man of his appearance climbing into the back of an unlocked Mercedes on the night in question, throwing children's toys around, and saying: "I'm the bishop of Southwark. It's what I do."
Bishop Butler describes this, accurately enough, as "a very strange story". He still believes he was mugged and is having tests for amnesia. In the meantime, he takes comfort from his public transport smart-card record, which suggests that, after leaving the embassy in Belgravia, he walked to Green Park tube station, took the Jubilee Line to London Bridge, then caught the Northern Line to Tooting Bec, before boarding a bus to Streatham.
A drunken man could not have made such a complex journey, he says. Which is fair enough, to a point. Like God, the London Underground moves in mysterious ways and you normally need to be sober to negotiate it. But as a holy man, surely the bishop relies to some extent on divine guidance. Is it possible he was shown the way home by a star?