Presents Cyril watched anxiously as his mother inspected the gift. She was a wizened old woman of seventy-three, with a tongue sharp as a needle and a temper strong as an ox. He hadn't been sure what to get her for Christmas, so had got her something safe. It didn't seem very safe now that he had given it to her. His mother looked up, eyes narrowed. 'Strange gift, this is. For an old woman like me. A watch.' Cyril looked at the watch. It had cost him ninety pounds and was plated with fourteen-karat gold. He had thought it a bargain. Some people can speak sharply. Cyril's mother opted to sharply remain silent. Cyril suddenly felt the urge to say something. 'Of course, it's only part of a bigger pre-' 'What else is there?' Snapped his mother. Cyril hesitated. 'Well, there's, y'know, well, there's, um, the box to keep the watch in...' He tried feebly. 'Right. The box.' 'Yes, mother.' 'Of course, I won't be using it a lot, what with the fact I'll be wearing the watch...' Cyril realised that he was steadily digging himself into a hole that was already deep when he started. If he was lucky, he could escape the situation having only spent a hundred pounds, he estimated. He realised his mother was waiting for him to speak. 'There's also, um...' Cyril said the first thing that came into his mind. 'There's the DVDs! I got you a box set of the first series of, uh... the Hour?' His mother nodded. 'And?' 'A, uh, book about how to play bridge! Yes. Bridge.' Cyril finished triumphantly. He was pleased with himself. He had wormed his way out of it, having only promised about thirty pounds of gifts. Why was mother was still staring expectantly at him? Cyril sighed, and gave way. 'Tell you what, mother... Why don't I just give you a hundred pounds, and you go and spend it however you like?' 'Two hundred.' 'One fifty.' 'One seven five.' 'Done.' 'Oh, Cyril! You're such a dear,' his mother said. She stood up slowly and hugged him. 'Now. When do I get the money?'