Christmas has become a time of ghosts. Of my parents, of children who became adults, of dogs passed

After more than half a century of Christmases, memories still seem to somehow attach themselves, limpet-like, to unlikely gifts.

So many presents except books – I always keep books – end up, I hate to say, forming part of my life’s landfill. But there are a few unlikely stayers, simple gifts that keep on giving to the memory if not exactly to the prosaic practicalities of my life.

Related: Sometimes I fleetingly feel my parents' presence, as if they were still alive | Paul Daley

All the uncles are gone now, the last stubborn old bugger at 102 in 2017. And Mum and Dad. And my mother-in-law too

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