BUILD YOUR OWN T-REX

A lady got on the bus today, holding a huge Jurassic World Build-Your-Own-T-Rex kit. Three things went gallumphing through my mind like Gallimimus, almost at once:

That. Is a cool present.
I wonder what people are willing to pay, for Christmas-Morning Joy.
I'd love that.

Every now and then, I get a rush of that childhood Christmas excitement. I know, I know, it's only October, but it hits you at weird times, the festive spirit - that's how this stuff works. You just feel it like a little tingle, a memory; a wide-eyed kind of ludicrous hopefulness that doesn't quite belong on a grizzly morning. But there it is.

It lasts longer when you're younger.

At the bus stop outside Sainsbury's today, it was just a moment, before that lady climbed aboard the 26 and flumped into her seat with the Build-Your-Own-T-Rex kit next to her. I was already back to October by the time the bus chugged off.

There is something to be said for Christmas-Morning Joy. It's pure and without inhibition; like a child, but brighter than the room, stronger than the shimmer of baubles and tinsel. It's ancient and new, delightful and precious, like a window into the past.

Yup. I can see myself slotting balsa-wood vertebrae into a ready-made spine. I can see a paintbrush with a dollop of dark green paint, and sharp, plastic teeth, and beady lizard eyes. I can see all that, and me sticking my tongue out while I concentrate.

But I'm old. I need gutters, and seals for washing machines. I need a new front door, a doorbell, a drill, and a hammer. Not to mention a car. There's not a lot of room for a Build-Your-Own-T-Rex.

And yet, on the inside...