Picture it. It’s after midnight. You’re in a big house in the countryside, practically in the middle of nowhere. Upstairs a child slumbers. Too far away across a wide landing to be any comfort to you or you to be any saviour to it, should something nefarious try to attack. The curtains are tightly drawn except for at one window directly in your eye line which looks out into the inky darkness. All is quiet. Too quiet. Then suddenly an otherworldly screeching yell sounds out from the darkness of the hallway. Your body freezes in fright, not flight. Is this it? Is this the end?
No. No it’s not the end. It’s not a demon or a ghoul. Close though. It’s a demonic toy train that bellows into life whenever it fancies, honking and keening like a haunted house at Disneyland. In this story I’m the teenage babysitter and the shrieking toddler toy is the beginning of my education on what never to buy a child for Christmas. Or, alternatively, what to buy for the child of my sworn enemy ...
1. Anything that makes a repetitive noise. It’s difficult to avoid these, especially when shopping for tiny tots. Items that beep and whistle and flash are right up their street, according to toy manufacturers. The worst of this ilk are the likes of my pal the train, which burst into life like Regan from the bed in The Exorcist, head spinning and vomiting out nursery rhymes and singsong voices. I imagine that by noon on Christmas Day thousands of these items will have been secreted away or accidentally stood on.
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2. Anything that’s alive. You would think after years of “a pet is for life, not just for Christmas” we would have learned. But no, every year little wet noses and little soft whiskers push their way out of boxes stabbed with air holes. When I canvassed pals with children about their greatest fear when it comes to their kids receiving presents the number one answer was “anything alive”. A vegetarian friend has a mantra when it comes to what she won’t eat: “Nothing with a mother or a face.” The same goes for presents.
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3. Any instrument. This really should go without saying. Chances are, if the child you are gifting to had progressed any distance through primary school, they’ve already brought home a tin whistle or similar. Indeed, I can still see the thousand-yard stare in my mother’s eyes as I blared out Beethoven’s Symphony number 9, Ode to Joy, on a recorder. As it was meant to be heard. Drum kits – electronic with a headphone port are okay – harmonicas, tambourines, anything with a microphone or means to amplify – these are all a no-no.
4. Something dangerous. I’ve broken this rule already this year myself by purchasing a gift for a child which involves making molten sugar to pour into moulds. What could go wrong? I might as well go the whole hog and get her a hoverboard, a Swiss army knife and a book about the positives of taking sweets from strangers in vans.
5. Three thousand stickers. Look, I get it. Kids go wild for the bloody things. But nothing says “I don’t have children” like gifting a book containing thousands of tiny stickers to a household. Next time you visit your eyes will be dragged hither and thither as you spot the fruits of your generosity stuck to the fridge, the backs of the kitchen chairs, the lovely panelling your friends painted in sage to match the kettle. There’ll probably be a few in the child’s hair.
6. Something that will incite disappointment. Several years ago a friend’s child set their heart on a “chocolate factory” for Christmas. If there’s a truth universally known it’s that toys that promise to deliver on home-made sweets or baked goods are always a cod. I’m looking at you, Mr Frosty. Santa couldn’t quite produce a chocolate factory – the big man has his limits like the rest of us – so he tried his best with a set of chocolate moulds for making bars. Unsurprisingly this was not what the child had in mind and anyway tempering chocolate is not what anyone wants to be doing at 7am on Christmas morning. Always remember to manage expectations.
7. Anything large. I dithered over a truly enormous Paw Patrol control tower contraption a few years ago. In my wisdom I weighed up the minutes of pleasure the child would glean from it compared to the months, nay years, of resentment over the real estate it would take up in the house and opted for a demure Lego set instead. Always opt for the demure Lego set instead.