C is for cunning, and also for chair

Six years ago I didn't know what to get T for his 43rd birthday. The man is infernally difficult to buy gifts for. He doesn't drink, doesn't love chocolate the way I do and stubbornly insists he doesn't need any more books or clothes or CDs or power tools. So I thought I'd be original for a change. I went to a good timber yard and bought him 3 long planks of oak. Which of course he had to go and collect himself since my car is tiny and the timber people refused to deliver just 3 pieces of wood. Can you see where this is going?

After some inconvenience, the wood made it home. There followed some appreciative mumbling and head-scratching on T's part. The children thought I had lost the plot. They were mystified as to why their mother would want to give their father planks of wood for his birthday.

This blip shows what happened to T's birthday wood. He built a beautiful Adirondack chair for me and presented it to me on my birthday that year. Wasn't that sweet and clever of him? And wasn't it sneaky and clever of me to have thought of buying him the wood in the first place?

The chair is suberbly crafted, made without using any nails, screws or glue. Dowels hold everything together, and it's extremely solid and comfortable. Heatwaves and long winters have weathered the wood a beautiful grey. The arms are wide enough to park drinks, iPods, books and sketch pads on. The children daydream, read, squabble and nap on it, using the dog as a lap blanket. I curl up on it with stacks of cookbooks and a glass of wine and go food-travelling in my head. T brings his harmonicas to it after dinner and serenades the night with the blues.

Best birthday present I ever gave. Best birthday present I ever got.