No PC pressie

Right. Where was I? Oh yeah, my friend Paul's birthday do. When extending the invite to me a few weeks ago, he said, and I quote, "Hey, it's my birthday next week, so we're having a few drinks and a bit food in my place. And seriously – no gifts, okay?". So I didn't buy him a gift, much to the bemusement of another friend Declan's wife Helen, who was only dying for party night to roll around, hoping I would be shown up in polite company as some sort of tight-arse.

Saturday night arrived, as did I, at Paul's place. Rachel, his charming wife, opened the door and ushered me inside, where much to my horror, I was met by a sea of people I didn't know. I find making the effort to attend a social gathering painful enough, but even more excruciating is the prospect of having to "mingle" with strangers. I deposited my bottle of Sancerre in the packed fridge – brought principally for my own consumption and not as a gift – and made my way towards the garden to have a smoke and do a bit of recon.

I positioned myself at the fringe of a small group of people, none of whom I knew, so I could earwig on the conversation for a bit. Turned out they were talking about those incredibly annoying Harvey Norman radio ads, of all things. And not in an ironic or dismissive way, which would have been barely tolerable in itself, but earnestly, debating the machinations behind the recent substitution of the original voiceover artist with a newer, and apparently less authentic sounding guy.

As I stood open-mouthed, rooted to the ground, listening to one guy refer to Harvey Norman as being "an integral part of our integral landscape", Paul came over to say hello.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, obviously a bit the worse for wear even at this early stage of proceedings.

"Hi, how's it going? Happy birthday."

"Cheers. What are you doing out here on your tod?"

"Just chilling, doing a bit of recon, you know? Who's your man?" I asked Paul, gesturing to the guy behind me waxing lyrical about the radio ads.

"Oh, that's Marcus, he's a friend of Rachel's from work. Why?"

"Because he's a complete knob, that's why."

"Who's a complete knob?" asked Declan, as he and Helen joined us under the gas burner.

"Your man there," I continued. "Don't ask me why, but they're talking about those stupid Harvey Norman ads, right? And the knob, Marcus, actually said that they were 'an integral part of our aural landscape'. Can you get over that?"

"Fair enough, that's a bit wanky," Declan agreed, "but they're good ads all the same."

"How are they good ads?" I countered.

"Well, here we are talking about them – they're having an impact," he reasoned.

"Get a grip. First off, we're not talking about them, we're talking about that lot talking about them, it's a completely different thing. And secondly, have you ever bought anything in Harvey Norman's?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Have you Paul?"

"No, don't know even know where it is."

"Right, so how are they good ads? I'm sure Mr Harvey Norman, whoever he is, would rather that people were in his store buying shit as opposed to standing around talking about his alleged contribution to the expansion of our 'aural landscape', no?"

"Well I know where Harvey Norman's is and I've been there and I bought something there," Helen then said emphatically, a glint in her eye.

"Really? What did you buy?" I asked her.

"I bought a present for Lucy. It was her birthday, and she was having a party, so I bought her a present. You know the way people do when someone invites them to a party? Well she invited me to her party, so I bought her a lovely lamp. As a present."

"Got it," I said sarkily, knowing what she was up to. "Party. Present. Very good. Okay, so you've been to Harvey Norman's. I still think they're crap ads, and your man's a knob, that's all I'm saying."

"So Paul," Helen continued, "did you get anything nice for your birthday?"

"You bet – Rach got me a PSP, it's cool. And thanks again for the old box set – can't wait to get stuck into it."

"No problem mate, you're welcome," Declan said, finally realising what his wife was up to. "How about you Do, what did you get him?"

"I didn't get him anything because he expressly requested me not to, didn't you Paul," I replied calmly.

"Well, yeah, but..." Paul muttered.

"But nothing, if you were fishing for a pressie, tough shit, it's backfired on you. Say what you mean anymore, I'm sick of all this PC crap."

"Yeah, you're right, I will."

"Good."

"Tight-arse."