Chickens and cows in gift shops

Yesterday I had lunch with my mother and then followed her about the shops while she looked for a present for her work Kris Kringle. We ended up in a poncy homewares shop. Not the one near my office, which goes for pretty: all red and pink and white and knick-knacks. This one aims for a certain sophistication: heavy white linen and ceramic kitchen jars labelled in French and large wooden trays decorated with wine labels. Oh, and giant (as in, up to my waist) rusted metal chickens that cost several hundred dollars.

Anyway, the highlight of the day was the expression on my mother's face when she saw the (ridiculously expensive) galvanised iron ice buckets. My mother is a daughter of the soil; to her (and me, come to that) galvanised iron buckets belong in the cow shed, not on the dinner table.

Also, having visited almost every gift shop here yesterday, I can tell you that the City by the Sea's number one gift suggestion this year is a brightly coloured cow figurine. They're everywhere. You can't mooove without falling over a table full of them. Sorry.