Final word: How to be charitably guilt-free

I have a very low guilt threshold. I'm one of those people who feels guilty going through customs, even though I know I haven't done anything illegal or have anything illegal secreted in my baggage or inserted in any body cavity.

Yet I still feel guilty because maybe there's something that I've forgotten about (in my baggage rather than in my body cavity) or I'm carrying something I didn't know was illegal but which actually is, say while I was away, the Government banned Paul Smith socks with holes in the heel or decided that being in possession of a Stephen King novel that isn't one of his better ones is a criminal offence.

I know this is irrational. Socks with holes in the heels are only illegal in my house and then only if my beloved wife finds them. And everyone knows that possession of Stephen King isn't actually illegal, just sometimes ill-advised. No, the point here is that I feel guilt, even when there is no guilt to feel. This is simply the way I roll and I can't change it.

But what I do find increasingly irksome is when I'm made to feel guilt when even I know I have absolutely no right to feel guilty. What is starting to really hack me off is when I have guilt thrust upon me.
I walked down Auckland's Queen St the other day. I like shopping on Queen St - even with the astronomical price of parking, I still prefer it to a shopping mall. But on this particular day my pleasant shopping experience was more like an exercise in dodging people trying to solicit my money from me than a pleasurable experience.

Some of these people I have absolutely no problem with - like buskers who are actually putting in some effort, playing up a storm and displaying demonstrable talent. I'm happy to flick a dollar or two their way if I happen to have some change on me as I trundle past. Obviously this category excludes mimes, clowns and anyone on stilts, because in no way should these people ever be encouraged to appear in public.

I may even, from time to time, flick a coin in the direction of the bewildered guy blowing the same note over and over again on the harmonica, because he's at least giving it a go. The guys - and there is a particularly pushy one near where I live - who hit you up for change, I'm not so keen on. Mind you, this may be as much to do with my default "possum in headlights" reaction to unforeseen social situations, rather than anything to do with them - like, for instance, the way they smell.

But the characters who are really starting to tick me off are the charity ambush squads who seem to roam the streets these days. These are not, I hasten to add, the nice volunteers who rattle buckets on national street collections days, like Daffodil Day, for example. I have no problems there and will happily chuck a few bucks in the bucket - especially if it's to cure something that might feasibly afflict me in the future.

No, the people who tick me off are the smiling people who step out in front of me, with their clipboards of propaganda at the ready and ask me if I've got a minute to talk about dying kids somewhere or the plucky victims of some rare condition whose lives will be so much better if I fling cash their way. And then, when I smile and say "no thanks" as I walk past, they chirrup a cheery "have a nice day then", like an arrow of guilt aimed at my back.

The thing is I don't need that guilt in my life and I don't think I deserve it, because to whom and when I impart what little charity I can afford to give should be of my calling, not theirs. I'm sometimes tempted to stop and say to them, "Well, last year I gave to the IHC, to prop up the education system, to fly helicopters that rescue people, to save the planet, to study and cure neurological disorders, and to free political prisoners. Which one of these do you think I should drop off my list to support your mob?"

But I never do because, quite frankly, they annoy me and I can't be bothered wasting my time.

It would be much easier if there was some kind of badge I could wear that indicates that I have officially given enough to charity in this fiscal year, and if any of these bastards hit me up in the street when I'm wearing my badge, I'm entitled to smack them over the head with their clipboard - and not feel guilty about it.