Homemade greetings

Men have a shameful reputation when it comes to remembering anniversaries, birthdays and notable dates, but some of us ward off total disgrace and make it worse for everybody else. Whether this skill is inherited from my Mum's genes or was instilled from an early age, it is a gift carried proudly and used to cement relationships both business and social.

Remembering birthdays is my 'thing'. My talent would appear upon my CV if modesty prevented me from doing so, but all it requires is a diary, some memory cells and conjuring up the feeling of somebody remembering your own special dates. I will write down the date a friend casually mentions first meeting his girlfriend, my diary has a list of Name Days for Finnish casual acquaintances, and if a relative drunkenly reveals the date they lost their virginity then that remains confidential.

Part of this desire to recollect dates is to deepen my personal connection, while the most part is shocking the hell out of them, "How did you remember that?! When did I tell you…?" It requires minimum effort but yields massive responses, although every year they then expect you never to miss a beat. This is when you up the ante and delve into your creative subconscious.

Having the knack of committing dates to memory is nothing, remembering to get a card, composing a creative sentiment and posting it on time is another world for men. This realisation has come from years of my Mum buying the cards for my Dad; I believe she even signs them for his parents' birthdays.

Apologies to the guys, but I excel in this area too. It is going to make some of the blokes vomit but I also enjoy making my own cards and I paid this with my sexuality being questioned. I reaffirmed my manhood with a man card (black card, ripped paper, no slushy sentiments) and I never looked back.

E-cards that can be viewed up to thirty days and text greetings have ripped the heart out of birthdays. Many of us are realising that the quantity of birthday cards dropping upon the doormat are drastically decreasing. A birthday should be a special day to shuffle through a stack of multi-coloured envelopes from assorted friends and family, then laugh at the rhymes mocking our age or cringe at the cheesiness of the picture. "You have mail" and 'Beep Beep' are not the same.

Okay, Hallmark Cards is a billion pound global industry, but where are all the homemade cards? Grabbing a pair of scissors, some fabric, coloured paper or card, then adding a scribbling of crayon or felt tip, before gluing the production firmly to the table requires a modicum of time and effort, but it will have more of an emotional impact than the mass-produced greeting cards.

A personalised effort does not require the use of your toenail clippings spelling out your beloved's name or plughole hair creating the clouds on your brother's 18th birthday card - there are some lines of decency that require a 21-year-old age limit. There are opportunities to blur those lines of decorum, for example, on a Fathers' Day card I praised my Dad's fertility with a poem and a golden penis mounted upon a plaque:

It is time to finally say
On this year's Fathers' Day
That we are very glad
You were able to be a dad
We want to give our thanks
For not shooting blanks
In honour of a great job
We present you this golden nob

I was the first person to ever send a Happy Birthday card to my Grandad which was covered in pink fluff and my favourite cards are the ones with collages and photographic manipulation of the subject, such as placing my six-year-old cousin on a Harley Davidson and my McLaren employed uncle in the Ferrari pit.

Yeah, you have made the card, washed the glue from your hands and shaken the sparkles form your hair, but it is blank inside. You need to compose a short poem for that extra-special homemade touch, though it needn't emulate the likes of Byron or Shelley. A snappy four-line stanza of comedic rhyming with a gram of heartfelt sentiment, so long as it has a bad rhyme and threatens an obscenity:

You have always been a great aunt,
Even when I was a little…bugger!

I guess the poem is the rough part, since we have all mentally blacked out when handed a Get Well Soon card at work and are faced with writing a line of wit or just signing our name…err, 'From Asa B' or 'Don't die and give us more work!' I can never decide which is suitable.

Composing poetry, card making and remembering dates are not usually associated with the heterosexual males, but that is why stereotypes were invented. There is a great personal satisfaction once you have completed a card, but it my duty to warn those gents wanting to move to the soft side: don't ever expect it in return because you will be sorely disappointed.