I've only just found out that there's a new Bill Bryson book out, The Life and Times of the Thunderbold Kid. And if I hadn't been perusing Dymocks' Fathers Day junk mail, I would still be ignorant of it today.
Buying it for the boy, for Fathers Day, wouldn't be appreciated though; I'm the Bryson fanatic, not him.
And so we come to the same problem I have at least twice a year - what the hell to get the boy who buys himself everything.
As soon as The Little Madam starts drawing with crayons (rather than eating them), his presents are going to be framed baby-art.