Happy Christmas

Vote for the Toy of the Future

Argos started its search for the Toy of the Future in October and now the 10 finalists, selected by a panel of judges, have been announced.

The the winning young inventor will see their very own toy design brought to life and to Argos' 2009 winter catalogue; they will also win £500 to spend in Argos. The other nine runners-up will win £50 to spend on a toy at Argos.

Now it's up to the public to decide the winner. To view the entries and vote for your favourite visit the Toy of the Future website.

No Ho-Ho!

Within a week two Christmas attractions have been closed down in Britain. Lapland New Forest closed because, as a spokesperson stated, of “bad publicity” read: such a shoddy rip-off that it drove some parents to violence in front of their own children. While, Lapland West Midlands, decided against opening because of, as a different spokesperson said “poor ticket sales” and “negative media” read: if it opened it would have been closed down anyway.

I’ve certainly been to a few dubious attractions and some outright tourist traps, from what I have seen from television pictures, those British versions of Lapland certainly looked like a very disappointing way to spend a long car journey, never mind the over £100 required to get a family in.

I myself feel very lucky. Instead of having to travel some distance, be it to a different country or merely a different county, Santa traveled to visit me! Well if that sound a little too boastful to be entirely true, then you’ll be right: Santa arrived to see all the children who visited our parish hall on that day.

Father Christmas had to leave the reindeer in a rather discreet parking spot: I grew-up in north London, the criminal fraternity would nick anything. The church hall was decorated with an artificial tree, paper decorations which I believe I personally had a hand or two, with my school chums, in making and tinsel from a decade the parents of the time would have trouble remembering. 

There was no snow machine, in fact, not even a spray-can or cotton wool suggestion of snow. Santa had to make do with an orange, stackable, plastic chair; the kind that would look cheap in a roadside, greasy-spoon, cafe.

I and the other children cheerfully queued for a turn to sit upon Father Christmas’s knee; it was allowed back then but that didn’t make it right. I re-assured Santa that I had been a good boy all year long and asked for what I would really like - in a whisper, of course, as not to spoil the magic.

As with many children of previous generations we were able to deal with mild disappointment, such as not being allowed a twelve go on a playground slide or the short time a pack of Opal Fruits lasted. So, even if I did see that suspiciously polyester looking white beard slip a little, I’m sure I wouldn’t make too much of a fuss; for the sake of all the other children waiting in-line with varying levels of patience.

“What is the point you’re making?” you may well and probably often ask: there’s no monopoly on the omnipotent presence on dear ol’ Saint Nick. If it’s for a good cause Father Christmas can turn-up anywhere and children simply won’t telephone Trading Standards to see where there stand if they want a refund.