Sugar mice in your stocking
Reporter: Kati Coogan
Date published: 24 November 2009
WHAT KATI DID NEXT: This morning we turned on children’s telly. We do in the morning; it gives mummy an extra 10 minutes under the duvet.
Between the two minutes of actual cartoons, there was up to seven minutes — yes, by this point I had sat up in bed and produced a stopwatch — of adverts for all manner of bits and bobs for Christmas.
It wasn’t even in any age-order. There were fluffy stuffed toys that wiggled their bottoms and sang daft tunes, then we had action-packed cartoon comic figures which could crash and bang with the best of them.
Then there were little dollies — please somebody tell me why they can now drink juice, hiccup and, god forbid, wee themselves.
Thankfully, this family — and I’m including the adults here — is too young to point at the TV and say “I want that!”
I’m trying to think back to the good old days of oranges and apples in your stocking rather than PSPs or X-boxes.
Was there ever a time — perhaps I’m looking at things through rose-tinted specs — when children were happy with sugar mice or did we always think “where’s that Commodore 64 I ordered?”
I do seem to remember that as I grew older and the reality of Christmas had hit, I had cut to the chase and started writing letters to Santa.
“Dear Father Christmas, if you go into Chelsea Girl in the precinct and turn left at the purple sequin leggings, you will go past the deely boppers and leg-warmers to your right and on your left on the bottom shelf there will be a pair of flowery Dr Martens with bright red laces.
“Please ask the assistant if they have them in size six. They will: I reserved them last week, and Bob will literally be your uncle.
“I promise to have a good few nips of whisky available, dad says one is never enough for you and a carrot or two for Rudolph and the lads.
“Please ask them to finish the lot though as we end up tripping up on the half they leave on the stairs.
“Merry Christmas mate, hope its not too stressful.”
Umm, its definitely those rose-tinted glasses. Maybe I’ll take them off next year.
