"Look at the back, Uncle Matthew," said Sam as I twiddled a Sharpie. I'd been trying to work out what to put on my Christmas list for the Secret Santa. He grabbed a whole load of pages and flapped the book to the toys section at the back.
"I want that one, and that one!" he said, poking the open catalogue with six year-old fingers. He was pointing at two massive NERF guns. One of them was £59.99! Seems like a lot for a plastic tube with darts that end up stuck up the hoover, wedged in a hedge, or lost down the sofa.
It occurred to me (perhaps for the first time) that the value of a thing like that might be those moments of joy and laughter when a NERF dart knocks off a party hat, or you roll about hilariously trying to be a ninja. He won't be getting one of those from me though; I think there are cheaper ways of creating memory-making fun.
In the end, like Sam, I put two things on my list. Whoever draws me out of the hat will have the thrilling choice of gifting me with a large wicker laundry basket or some kitchen scales.
And as old as I am, either of those things will make me beam with happiness.
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