Will My Great Nephew Adore This Bargain I've Bought Him For Christmas? Guess We'll Soon Find Out...
I bet no other kid will be getting this in their stocking.
WHEN your children, like mine, are technically no longer children, it’s all too easy to lose touch with current kids’ tastes.
Obviously most of the time I couldn’t care less. But it can make life kind of tricky at Christmas, when you’re expected to buy presents for family members born so recently that they can’t remember a time when Britain still belonged to the European Community and 80 per cent of TV programmes featured Gregg Wallace.
Honestly, what on earth are you meant to buy for a kid of today? It’s impossible to guess what they do and don’t like, or what they will and won’t like an hour from now. So my advice is: don’t even try, you’ll only make a fool of yourself. Instead, take my tip and buy what I’ve bought for Tommy, my great nephew.
Namely, a Blue Peter annual.
Not the current one, obviously. Assuming they even still make them, the current one’s bound to be rubbish. No, get a second-hand one that’s a few years old, ideally from the days when Blue Peter was properly educational and character building, unlike now, when one of the presenters is a puppet who pretends to be a dog.
Not only will a vintage Blue Peter annual be good for them (yes, vintage — so definitely not just a bit of old tat), it’ll also be way cheaper. The one I bought for Tommy cost me 90p. I found it at one of our local charity shops. To be honest, I can’t remember which charity, but I could tell they were thrilled to have made such a big sale. I was equally thrilled, as a customer, to know my money would be going to their tremendous cause, whatever it might have been. I fact, it gave me such a warm glow, as I handed them my shiny £1 coin, that I almost considered letting them keep the change.
This annual, to answer what I’m guessing will be your next question, is the one Blue Peter brought out in 1973. That, I’d argue, was the programme’s golden age. The presenters, featured on the cover, were John Noakes, Valerie Singleton, Peter Purves and Lesley Judd. “None of these people were puppets, Tommy,” I’ll be explaining. “Not even Purves.”
I’m already picturing the pure joy on Tommy’s face when he opens this annual and excitedly flicks through it, enchanted by its contents and its evocative musty odour.
What will he enjoy the most, I wonder?
Val’s article about the history of Cornish tin mines?
John’s, about his love of miniature glass trees (his hobby, we discover), or the day he helped thatch a cottage?
Or might he be more excited by Lesley’s contributions, including one on how to make pancakes and another on creating a hammock for your doll.
Alternatively, will he be captivated by Val’s report from Hadrian’s Wall, the four-page feature on Eddystone Lighthouse, or the article on the Shetlands festival of Up-Helly-Aa?
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d predict he’ll adore all those articles equally. But the stand-out feature for Tommy, I reckon will be the one about Mr Ray Cook from Pinner, a gentleman who makes carvings out of matchsticks.
It’s certainly my own favourite, although I don’t think I’ll be taking up that hobby myself. I certainly hope Tommy doesn’t, not least because it involves the use of a broken razor blade.
And Tommy — I don’t know if I mentioned this — is seven years old.
At least, I think he’s seven. He might be four. Or possibly 11. It’s so hard to keep track of these things, isn’t it? Every year I ask Tommy’s mum how old he is, and every year she gives me a different answer. Can you blame me for getting confused?
I do know, however, that he’s my great nephew. Which, yes, makes me a great uncle! But I think I’ve already made that abundantly clear. Indeed, I may well be the greatest of them all.
Oh, and if Tommy wants to enter the competition at the back of the annual, he could even win an invitation to the Blue Peter party! How fab would that be!
He’ll just need to bear in mind that the closing date for entries is January 10, 1974.
Also, I hope he doesn’t look at the book’s original price, printed just inside the front cover. It says 60p. If Tommy thinks that’s all I spent on his Christmas present, he’ll reckon his great uncle is a right old skinflint.