Hello. Has your mother bullied you into accepting an invite to Danielle’s birthday party, even though you and Danielle are sworn enemies and your mother should know better? Never fear, because I have the answer to your problem:
The Ladybird book of shit homemade presents!
Since we’re all middle aged on this blog (and if you’re not, what are you doing reading this on a Friday night? Go out and get laid for fuck’s sake), chances are our mothers haven’t made us go to Danielle’s birthday party recently. However, there are still plenty of handy things to make ‘n’ do in this book.
For example, if you work in an office where everyone has those “You don’t have to be a twat to work here, but I still am a twat” signs, then you’ll probably be forced to participate in a ‘Secret Santa’ every year, where you have to buy something for Yvonne, who you hate. If this is the predicament you find yourself in, I suggest you make Yvonne a recorder case or a shit Gonk – that’ll learn her.
Alternatively, make these presents and give them to the following people:
- That one at work who eats egg sandwiches
- Any murderers you happen to know
- Women who post inspirational selfies
- That woman off the Oral B advert
Now all we need is a company to start making “Yes I know this is shit but at least I haven’t kicked you up the arse, which is what I wanted to do” cards, and we’re all set.
Intended target: Someone who has a deadly pollen allergy, and who once laughed at your new tattoo. Make them shit their pants.
Bonus factoid: I have no idea what’s going on in these instructions, and would end up slicing myself if I attempted to make them, even if I am using round-ended scissors. Which might make Yvonne happy, but it wouldn’t make me happy. Maybe kids were cleverer in the 70s. Maybe everyone’s cleverer than me. According to Alex I keep using the word ‘equidistant’ when it’s really not appropriate.
Intended target: Someone who you do not want to be your Valentine because they smell.
This could actually be quite a good present to fuck with people, especially if it’s September and you give it to your least favourite sibling.
Pompoms and a pompom animal
Intended target: That woman who once ran over your cat, then claimed she was in Rhyl at the time.
You must make all of these or none at all. I think the idea is to give the target the pompom animal, then just hand over the others and go “You finish them, I can’t be bothered,” or “These ones died.”
Intended target: Anyone you don’t like because they look better than you.
By the way, you will notice as we go on that this book might be sponsored by Bostick. I have no fucking clue what ‘Vilene’ stiffening is, but if I have to pay money for it, my enemy is not getting shit felt jewellery. Although it might be worth it to insist she wears all of it all day. That would be good.
Intended target: The guy who beat you in a Ninja fight to avenge his master’s death that time.
Seriously, it is a very pointy windmill. And if no one has sworn vengeance against you, they will after you give them this.
Intended target: Someone you hate who is afraid of the dark. And who is called David.
Give them this, insist you bought it from an old Gypsy woman and that it’s haunted. And that, whenever he’s not looking at it, the sign on its mouth reads “HELP ME”. This might work if David is 6, I don’t know.
Intended target: Someone who really hates the sound of milk bottle tops clanking together.
Incidentally, what do we use instead of milk bottle tops, now that milk bottle tops aren’t really a thing? iPads?
Intended target: I have no idea. Someone who hates gingers?
As a fun jape, why not make this for your girlfriend for Christmas, after hinting you’re going to propose or something? You know, in case you want to split up with her in the most fun way possible. At least she’ll have a Gonk.
Intended target: Someone you can’t stand the sight of, but can’t legally kill.
That one on the left isn’t even a mask, it’s a crown. Do not give your enemy a crown, as this will make them king of you, and no one wants that.
Basket of sweets
Intended target: Your diabetic enemy.
OK, so we need crepe paper, Bostik (obviously), homemade fudge… hang on, are we supposed to just magically know how to make fudge? This is the 70s, you can’t just say “Alexa, help me make some fudge for my diabetic enemy”. If you don’t already know how to make fudge, just fill the basket with cigarette ends you found in the street.
Intended target: Me.
Regular readers will know that I am obsessed with desk tidies, for reasons unknown to me. I can’t make one of these because we use Fairy Platinum, and it comes in weird shaped bottles. If someone would like to make me a desk tidy, I’ll use it to tidy my desk, and I’ll cross you off my list of enemies that I keep in my bra.
Intended target: Yvonne at work.
Go on, give her this. You know you want to. Watch her bemused and disappointed face, and congratulate yourself as she tuts and has a menopause.
Intended target: Someone who lives outside.
Wall pockets. Pockets for your walls. Somewhere to keep your important shit like this book. Or – fill it with offal and hang it on your front door. I can guarantee you won’t get carol singers.
Intended target: Misc. This will go down terribly with anyone except my mother. My mother is responsible for producing me, so I don’t really need to elaborate.
Actually, I might make this for my mother. She’d love it, and call it Janet.
Intended target: Danielle, when you’re forced to invite her to your birthday party in return, even though she nipped you in the arm at her party.
Is it me or does that look like knickers?
Intended target: Someone who didn’t want a fucking totem pole as a present. Probably anyone.
While I appreciate that this is a pretty good make ‘n’ do, the recipient would probably rather have had Primark vouchers, so don’t bother. (For people my age, replace Primark with Tammy Girl.)
Fun fact: I was once doing training at a new job, and someone started taking the piss out of me because I used the word ‘recipient’. “Fucking dictionary girl, what does that word even mean?” I should have made the guy a totem pole.
Intended target: Rolf, apparently.
No one is called Rolf. Especially not now. However, my brother in law is called Carl, and I might make him this as a joke. He’ll probably just look at me like ‘yeah, that’s what I expected from you, you mental patient’. I probably won’t do that, thinking about it.