ALL across the country fights are probably breaking out in toy shops as desperate parents try to get their hands on a Doggie Doo or a Vortex Nitron Blaster Nerf Gun (or whatever this year’s must-have Christmas toy is.)
Oh I remember those days when my little angels would look at me, eyes wide with innocence, their cherubic faces wreathed in smiles and announce: “Santa is bringing me a blue Power Ranger/ Buzz Lightyear/Tiny Tears/ Sylvanian Families tree house.”
“Is he?” I would gulp, panic setting in as I realised that none of the afore-mentioned were stashed away at the top of the wardrobe.
“But I thought you wanted Baby Hush-a-Bye/ a green Power Ranger.” With hours to go before the big day itself, I was calmly informed: “No, I’ve changed my mind.”
I can clearly recall what I now refer to as “the year of the tiger” when all my four-year-old son wanted was a £4.99 plush tiger from Asda. He spotted it while were we shopping and so the following day I popped back to the supermarket to buy it, only to discover that all the tigers had been sold and no, they were not expecting further stocks. I bought a lion instead.
On Christmas morning, he delved into his stocking and pulled out the substitute which you didn’t have to be David Attenborough to spot had a mane and a lack of stripes. His little face crumpled: “This isn’t a tiger,” he said. “Santa must have got it wrong.”
I miss the magic of having young “believers” in our household but I don’t miss the agony of the “hunt” for that perfect, much-wanted toy.
“Please can I have cash for the January sales?” is jingle bells to my ears.