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On the train
Last-minute Christmas shopping leaves no margin for error. Trains tend to specialise in errors. But the idea of buying all your presents on your journey home is so deliciously daring, and so amazingly efficient, that I can't resist it.
In my mind's eye I can see the Virgin train shop of yore, chock-full of perfect presents for my discerning relatives - Losing My Virginity, Richard Branson's autobiography, for Mum; Business Stripped Bare by Richard Branson for Dad, and a little model of the Virgin Pendolino train for my nieces.
But all I can see is shutters: the shop is closed. Twenty minutes pass. Mr Virgin shop man punches a keyboard. "I'm pleased to announce that the shop is now open." Cue a stampede worthy of any January sale. There are nine people ahead of me. Curses! They could easily strip bare the shop's three shelves.
Hang on. Oh dear, no toy trains. No books. Why? "We don't stock books any more - they weren't selling," says Mr Virgin shop dude.
However, it has just dawned on me that the reason Virgin passengers don't read books on their trains is because Hotline, the Virgin Trains magazine, is so darn good. The December issue features interviews with Russell Brand, Keith Allen, Glasvegas and the bloke who played Gollum. There's a recipe for spicy chorizo soup and loads of, er, Christmas-shopping tips. The perfect gift for my sister. I don't even have to scrub out the price label because there isn't one.
The best things in life are free and by far the best thing in the train shop is a funky red rucksack that says "V Kids - love every second" on it. Inside is a hedgehog-shaped notepad, a "fun on the train" activity book with stickers (my nieces will love sticking them to my face on Christmas Day), six coloured pencils, a jigsaw puzzle and a mini blackboard with chalk. Sensational. And completely free! Thanks, Mr Branson. You're basically Father Christmas!
A set of headphones (£3.50) for my brother-in-law, a Rubik's micro cube (£3.50) for my oldest niece, chocolate money (£1.15) for their stockings. Dad? A mini pack of tissues (30p). Mum? A mini Bombay Sapphire and tonic (£4), a mini bottle of Cabernet Shiraz 2006 (a fine vintage; £5.50) and the 100-page Puzzler Collection, with a smiling woman and some Christmassy ice-skaters on the cover. And the icing on the cake? Individually wrapped slices of Christmas cake (£1.30 each) for the whole family. Ch-ching! £24.45p. "Driving home for Christmas," I hum to myself (even though I am on a train), delightedly picturing my family's beaming faces when they open their bounty.
Patrick Barkham
At the coach station
When it comes to presents from their children, my parents are adorably easy to please, which is fortunate as this year they are getting theirs from Union Gifts in Victoria Coach Station - and on a budget of £25. I briefly consider a fully dressed Paddington Bear for my father but, at almost £30, he's just too dear. A "My Daughter Went To London and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" top would, I suspect, try the powers of even my mother's maternal tact. There are some very handy fridge magnets showing your family's coat of arms but, sadly, our surname is not represented - a downside of being the descendant of eastern European immigrants who ditched their consonant-heavy name and coined a fake one on arriving in the west.
But all is far from lost in this patriotic shop. Reluctantly rejecting the Diana commemorative plates (which my mother would love but are unfortunately too pricy) I find a rather smart green leather handbag for £16.99 which looks vaguely like it's from Mulberry but I strongly suspect isn't. For my father, I find a true bargain: a box of teas in tins purporting to show scenes of London life (if you live in a London of bobbies, old phone boxes and Mary Poppins) that includes a box of shortbread. Total cost: £23.98. Who can argue with that?
Hadley Freeman
In the service station
Twenty minutes after arriving at Gordano services on the M5, I plonk my four Christmas items on the counter of the in-house WH Smith, and ask the woman serving me an obvious question: "Has anyone been doing their Christmas shopping here?"
She looks at me as if I am not all there.
"I wouldn't have thought so," she says. And then she pauses. "But we'll probably get some last-minute people."
That, of couse, is why I am here. And fair play to this small retail space just south of Bristol: though it doesn't quite offer the extensive delights of a high-street Smiths, you could do a lot worse. Among other attractions, the books section offers both Barack Obama paperbacks, the new J K Rowling, and - for any passing lefties - Mark Thomas's anti-Coke polemic, Belching Out the Devil. By the checkout hang voucher-cards for the likes of Pizza Express, Zavvi and B&Q. For £12.99 you can get a Manchester United "fleece blanket" - and for £7 more, there's a surreal gem: the "giant cup-and-saucer planter", featuring either an alluring Alice in Wonderland motif, or polka dots.
After some serious browsing, I reluctantly make up my mind. Though it may prompt complete bafflement, my partner will be receiving the £9.99 "softeeze" travel pillow, made to look like a limbless cow.
I initially go for the Gruffalo Activity Book, but my two-year-old son is going to get a 3D football jigsaw puzzle (for ages three and over, but he might still like it). For two other lucky people, who may or may not include my mum, dad, brother and close friends, I opt for Robert Peston's very zeitgeisty Who Runs Britain?, and a serviceable 250th-anniversary Guinness calendar.
By the end, I am £2.96 over budget but pleasantly surprised: bluntly put, if you are truly desperate, you might actually get away with this one.
John Harris
At the newsagent's
I am buying hypothetical presents for my sister, her husband and their two girl children of three and one. These are hypothetical because if I really got their presents in a newsagent, it would be grounds for a feud lasting into March. This, by the way, is a really small newsagent. I thought it would be cheating to go to one of those newsagents with ambition, which also have toys and a tiny post office. You may as well buy stamps, once you're in one of those. Everybody loves stamps.
My normal emergency present is a non-starter because no one in this family smokes, but what I sometimes do when I'm totally desperate is buy a pack of fags and write messages of love down each one. Children are a lot like smokers, though, in the sense that they like nothing better than the other superabundant newsagent staple, sweets. So I buy the three-year-old a box of Celebrations (£4.95), and before I give it to her, I'm going to do something fantastical, like paint a nursery-scape full of happy children from around the globe, and stick a mini choc bar into the hand of each one. I get the other one some Reece's Pieces, some Smarties and some jellybeans (£1.70 in total), because not only can you eat them, they are also brightly coloured, and - until you eat them - they rattle. That is just about everything a one-year-old dreams of.
I get my sister a giant A-Z with a CD-rom on it. She won't want it, but at £14.95 it is the most expensive thing in the shop, so that's nice, and you never regret having a great big map, do you? When it came to my brother-in-law, I suddenly thought, I always get him something he hates anyway. Last year, I got him a flashing badge! These corner-shop confines might be just the hurdle I need to overcome vile convention and get him something he actually wants. So I got him a Viz magazine (£3) and a lamb samosa (85p). Then the photographer points out that the samosa will go off on Christmas Eve, so I swap it for a vegetable one. He's going to nut out!
Zoe Williams
In the convenience store
Lostwithiel, a historic stannary town on the road between St Austell and Liskeard, is one of Cornwall's brightest stars at this time of year, attracting Christmas shoppers from miles around in search of its antique shops and boutiques. It even lays on an evening of Dickensian-themed late-night shopping.
But that's for people who haven't left Christmas to the last minute. If you pitch up outside normal opening hours, your options are a Londis, Penhaligons newsagent and the local Co-op supermarket.
As I quick step up Fore Street, I'm taunted by the Ghost of If I'd Got My Act Together. In the window of a boutique called the Romantic Englishwoman, I spot a hot-water bottle with a cashmere case for just £8.99. Further up the road, Rhubarb Interiors has a pretty slate-and-chalk noticeboard for £8.50. My wife Jane would have liked either of these, I'm sure.
There are the familiar bear traps, though. At Mountchase pharmacy, they have a display of discounted celebrity perfumes in the window. Celine Dion's Belong has a fiver knocked off and is only £9.74, Kate Moss's Velvet Hour and Kylie Minogue's Sexy Darling are both £14.95, and Victoria Beckham's Signature is £17.95, down from £21. The closed sign prevents me from making a divorce-worthy faux pas.
Inside Londis I just about avoid putting the "Horney Devil" socks (£1.99) in my basket and opt for some sensible food-and-drink items instead. I get a bottle of "Proper Job" Cornish ale (£1.95), some Cornish fairing biscuits (£1.55) and a bag of fresh chestnuts (£1.05). The kids might have liked the Lindt Santa Claus made from 1kg of chocolate, but at £29.99 that alone would bust my budget. Instead, I get them a deck of cards (99p) and a National Geographic Kids magazine (£2.99). (Sorry, kids, but we're going through a Credit Crunchmas.) I get some chewable pig ears for the neighbour's dog (£1.65), before making a final sprint to Penhaligons newsagent where I find a "tractors of yesteryear" calendar for my son (£5.99), some Mexican craft beads (£3.29) for my girls and a book listing circular walks around the River Fowey (£4.50) for Jane. I have just enough money left - £1.04 - to buy a lottery ticket (£1) in the hope that I might be able to look my family in the face next year.
Leo Hickman
At the petrol station
I've always been baffled that we choose petrol stations to stock barbecues, lighters and coal. Personally I've never stopped for petrol and thought, "You know what I need? To set something on fire." But staring at a pack of 12 firelighters promising "fast, reliable firelighting", a universal truth dawns on me: fire is fun. Dad likes fun, therefore Dad likes fire. Therefore Dad gets firelighters (£1.66). Sorted.
Mum, on the other hand, is one of those people who, when Christmas approaches, takes on the character of a Buddhist monk, denying any desire for worldly possessions. So she usually ends up with a calendar titled "Twelve Shades of Mauve". Well, not this year! Enter the exciting Five-Piece Winter Kit (£5.89), combining de-icer, screen wash, two sponges and ice-scraper. In a fetching transparent bag, it looks like a Body Shop gift set for people who think they're cars.
Next up is my uncle, who shuns cars and walks about eight miles a day. I spot a map of London (£5.50) that boasts "Including One Way Streets", which presumably other maps leave out just to confuse people. It's also gone to the trouble of mapping "selected car parks", which will save him visiting any of the really dull ones. Perfect.
Since Grandma has just moved in to a nursing home, I figure a well-placed box of Ferrero Rocher (£6.15) could be her gateway to the higher social echelons of the octogenarian world. And if she doesn't like the chocolate, she can always while away a few hours trying to make a pyramid out of them.
My sister proves hardest to shop for and I consider asking if they sell vouchers for petrol. But then I find the holy grail of petrol-station present-giving - a Bagpuss air-freshener (£3.49). It's cute, it's useful and it smells of old cat. She'll understand.
I round it all off with a pair of chocolate santas (97p each) for the guests and Christmas is solved for £24.63. If this stuff doesn't tell them I love them, nothing will.
Tom Meltzer
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