Panic buying is yet another festive luxury we can’t have now’
Of the cheeriest things about Christmas – bauble-clad novelty pop, a judgmentfree zone for copious sprout consumption – buying is up there with the best of it. Even for last-minute gift-dashers like me, there is pleasure in building up each loved one’s present like pieces of a puzzle; the things you happen past in shops as December rolls on, the ideas that spark over festive drinks, all boosted with a little endorphin high as your credit card hits the receiver on Christmas Eve.
Much of the joy of shopping had already been kiboshed by the events of the past year, but Saturday’s announcement that shops were to shutter in London and the South East left half a nation of laid-back presentbuyers wondering how many ribbon-wrapped supermarket spatulas could reasonably be doled out come Christmas morning.
All this makes Rishi Sunak’s latest pronouncement urging Britons to go on a “spending spree” when we “get back” seem more of a riddle, rather than an instruction. Households have saved 19 per cent more of their disposable incomes than they would have in a pandemic-free year (adding up to £7,100 per household and £197 billion nationally), according to the Centre for Business and Economic Research. But “the £197 billion question,” they added, “is what will households do with the money they have accumulated in 2020 when restrictions ease?” That “when” is doing a lot of heavy lifting: with every shutdown and easing and lockdown and circuit breaker, trying to actually spend is more of a headache than ever.
Perhaps the less wellorganised among us (me) might have fared better had we bought up the contents of the high street during the inter-lockdown fortnight, but even presents purchased ahead of time have come to naught. Lavish dinners have been postponed, tickets shelved for the foreseeable, wrongly sized clothes lie in bags, unreturned. After Tier 4 came in, the only option in rain-spattered walking distance for many was the local department store, which in my case amounted to choosing between a few bath mats and a rail of discontinued Wallis clothes. I left with a princely total of half of one gift; an experience almost less dispiriting than my trip to a deli the following evening where I spent half an hour queuing in the dark, followed by a further 10 minutes instore – alone with four staff members, as per their interpretation of social distancing guidelines – while one of them attempted to slice a piece of cheese. That wobbly wedge of Stilton is currently my Christmas offering that stinks the least.
This relaxed approach to gifting works both ways: I have been informed that from my nearest and dearest this year’s fare beneath the tree will be a “sorry, the shops were closed” IOU and perhaps some petrol station flowers, if I am lucky.
One in five of us had already planned to spend “significantly less” this Christmas than in 2019, according to new figures, while on Saturday, West End footfall had already dropped 25 per cent in a week. Of course, gifting isn’t the most pressing concern – not when countries are closing their borders to seal Britain hermetically into our own pandemic petri dish, and infection rates are climbing. It would have been nice, though to bring in a little cheer - not least because presents in lieu of presence will this week be the case for so many.
Click and collect still remains an option for a few retailers, but dicing with Royal Mail now is likely more than anyone can take. So join me, last-minute gifters, in the (latest) 2020 Yuletide challenge – finding the least worst goods we can hand over to those we are allowed to see with a straight face. No, the local hardware store and pharmacy aren’t known for their sentimental offerings but if there was ever a time to get one’s thinking cap on (can you buy those online before Friday?), this is it. If anyone does have suggestions, a small reminder that sharing is caring. At this stage, we’re all mere seconds away from a stocking full of Elastoplasts and truly, in our pandemic-riddled year, nobody deserves that.
A wedge of Stilton is my Christmas offering that stinks the least