Personal

Under Pressure

I find I perform best under pressure.

Today I tried to do my Christmas shopping. I armed myself with a list of ideas for friends and family, and headed out into the bustle of the High Street. The first Saturday in December. The shops were busy, but not hectic. Cashiers were queue-less and Ipswich sported only one carolling brass band.

But I came away empty. I bought nothing.

Here's how it works best with me: Christmas Eve, about four o'clock in the afternoon. Ninety percent of the shoppers have gone home to be with their families. You can breeze straight into a parking space, and there's no need to swim through the crowds of people spilling off the pavements. With an hour to go before the shops shut, the pressure is high. But here's the remarkable thing: deadline looming, something switches over in my mind and I find the right present for each person first time, time and time again.

You may think that's a crazy notion, but three or four years ago my brother and I did just that. We drove in to Brighton with minutes to spare, and had the least stressful Christmas shopping expedition on record. (Well, stress-less until my car glided to a halt on the way out of town, engine dead.)

I look back at it every year. It's one of those moments that's grown in my memory to be an annual event. "What Jez and I always do ...," I find myself telling friends.

And it's when you can no longer tell yourself whether it was a one-off occurrence or part of the Family Christmas that you realise: that passing moment, that trudge round the shops is a gem you'll hold onto for the rest of your life.

(But none of this solves my immediate problem: nineteen days and no prezzies bought.)