Christmas present fallout

I have learned a salutory lesson this Christmas. If someone gave you a gift which a) you can't remember who the donor was, and b) you don't like it, DO NOT whisper a word about not liking it to anyone, not even the one person you thought couldn't possibly have given it to you because they know you too well and know your tastes. Especially a family member. Especially your sister.

Now, this was a difficult one because my sister's gifts arrived in two stages. When I was in Liverpool for a week in mid November, Little Sis drove down from her mountainous abode in the North (Cumbria) for lunch and handed me a plastic bag which I promptly stowed in my wheelie suitcase, ready for transporting back home. She said it was just one or two little things and the rest of my Christmas present would follow.

I got home and opened the parcels, which contained boxes of Cumberland toffees and fudge. I must also have unwrapped the other parcel, noticed it wasn't anything perishable, and placed it in the bag in which I was putting all Xmas gifts received in advance, ready for opening on The Day.

On the 25th Dec, six weeks later, I tipped everything out onto the kitchen table and opened them all, being sure to write down who gave me what so that I could give the appropriate thanks. How very efficient, I can hear you thinking. As the glasses of festive wine slipped down, so my writing declined into scribbles, and by the end of it I had one gift left over, sans label, and knew not who had given it to me.

It was a set of matching earrings, bracelet and watch. Very much the kind of demure costume jewellery you would wear to work with a neat white blouse, or wear with your twinset while taking tea with auntie. Not my usual kind of hippie jewellery, chunks of stone or moon-shaped silver on leather thongs, sparkly pendants, bright coloured beads, the type of stuff that goes with velvet, denim and sequins. This, I thought, must have been given by someone who didn't know me well at all, and I started making discreet enquiries, which were prefaced by a call to my sister thanking her for the super fleece top and adding, "I'm trying to find the person who gave me a truly ghastly jewellery set. They even left the price on. $129.99. Either someone bought it in America, or they bought it on eBay."

The discreet enquiries, by phone and email, went thus... "Someone gave me a boxed set of jewellery and I don't know who it was. It wasn't you, was it? I want to make sure I thank the right person."

Up in Cumbria, my sister had regaled her Xmas guests with the story and, after experiencing painful pangs at having her loving gift rejected by her awful sister, had let herself be persuaded never, ever to own up.

By yesterday, the 28th, I had given up. I rang Sis and wailed, "I STILL don't know who gave me the dreadful jewellery. " There was a burst of hysterical laughter, Sis made a curt remark about having cooking to do and the call was cut off. Two hours later, I rang her back. By now, a nasty, niggly worm of suspicion was writhing in my mind. Just say... no, it couldn't be... no, that would be too ghastly for words. (In tiny 6 point letters: it couldn't possibly have been her, could it?)

Under pressure, Sis revealed the truth. It was a present from her and she HAD bought in on eBay. In fact, she had purchased quite a few different sets and mine was one of the best. (Which made me feel even worse, of course.) "I thought you mightn't possess a dress watch and it's always good to have one," she said reproachfully. I do have one. It's the real thing, diamond and sapphires and 14 ct gold and it never comes out of the safe. It was too late to backtrack. All I could do was apologise for my crassness and ingratitude and offer to treat her to a spa day.

Meanwhile there's a nice set of jewellery going begging. Only those with wide wrists need apply. That was the main problem, really. The watch (keeping perfect time owing to the new battery Sis put in) has a bracelet that is much too wide for my wrist, and can't be taken in. The length can be altered but not the shape. It's by Louis Delon and it's not really that horrible. I am just prone to dramatic outbursts. In fact, it's very nice, neat and pretty - not at all like me. And not having any aunties left, I am unlikely to need to wear it to sip a genteel tea.