It’s time for wish lists All I want for Christmas ...

Press, 13 December 1989, Page 16

It’s time for wish lists All I want for Christmas ...

Somewhere in St Albans a small boy is making out his Christmas list with more enthusiasm and optimism than discretion. That he has not yet learnt to write is no barrier to this child. He is drawing the presents of his dreams.

Meanwhile, also in the city, is a man who knows all about children’s dreams. He worked as Father Christmas in a department store in town last year. “I want,” announced one very sophisticated tot, hopping onto his knee, “a computer, and don’t give me any of that c**p about it being out of stock.”

Not a slow man, this particular Father Christmas soon found out that today’s children are a little more sophisticated than those depicted in "Little Women.”

Deciding to enter into the spirit of things, our newly-educated Santa said to one little tot that he had better get his phone number so he could ring and advise of the availability of a certain toy. “Phone number?” the little lad answered scornfully, “but I wrote to you! You should already have it.”

Get out of that one if you can. It also paid, our Father Christmas found, to be up to date on the current

craze in toys, une appealing little girl asked for a little pony for Christmas. Our man of the moment, not wanting to promise anything rash, asked where she would keep it. “In my bedroom,” said the little girl in a surprised tone. Father Christmas looked at the little girl’s mother for help. The little girl’s mother, however, found nothing extraordinary about this request and indicated he could go ahead and promise delivery of one little pony. The little pony, it transpired, was of the plastic variety, about 15cms tall, and with a long silky mane and tail which could be brushed.

Like dirt, young children and Christmas are inseparable. At the tender age of four and two, our children are now totally clued up on what Christmas means.

It means ignoring the expensive, well chosen toys and jumping in and out of the wrapping paper with shrieks of glee. And it means leaving something to eat and drink by the fireplace for Santa. Their father is trying to persuade them that Father Christmas prefers Glenfiddich and smoked trout to milk and cookies, so far without success. For adults, Christmas holds a slightly different meaning. Christmas means parents must ooh

and aah over the goodies that they are already on familiar terms with, since they bought them only days earlier to stuff in the stockings. Christmas also means stocking up on every conceivable battery made by man before the big day dawns. Any parent worth his or her salt knows that forgetting the batteries for battery operated toys is an experience not to be repeated. Christmas is when all

X'l

those arguments which start in March about where you’re going to eat Christmas dinner (“but we went to your parents last year”) are finally settled, if only because CDay has actually dawned. It is also your only opportunity to give the off-spring of people you don’t like drums, trumpets and toys that have highpitched repetitive tunes ... and they have to smile and thank you for them. Truly a season of goodwill to all men!