I am assured that what The Rascal wants, above all else, for his fourth birthday next month is a Power Rangers T Rex Super Charge Morpher. No, me neither.
the Middle of the Darling Daughters, says it will be his favourite present. He is already convinced that his Grandad (aka Mr B) is making for the shops as I write. The Youngest of the Darling Daughters offers to order the toy from the Amazon Jungle but I explain
that it will be more fun if I order it from Argos and collect it myself. "If you're sure that's what you want to do..." she texts back, doubtfully. Did you know that texts can express a range of emotions? In my experience, they can. I receive many texts every
day and I can almost always make a shrewd guess as to whether they are expressing sympathy, doubt, hope, concern or whatever. I may, of course, not always be right..
Anyway, I really did mean it when I said
it would be much more fun to pick up T Rex myself. It will be part of my Advance Preparations for the birthday, which are already, well, advanced. For starters, I have booked tickets for The Rascal and I to see a performance of "Monstersaurus" at a local theatre,
just the two of us. Yes, I am a little worried that it might be a trifle scary - but I'm sure My Rascal will hold my hand and look after me.
We are going to travel to town on the bus because I don't think
The Rascal has ever been on a bus before and I am a strong believer that every birthday should bring new experiences. I will be interested to see where he chooses to sit on the bus. The oldest two (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys, who have often travelled by
bus with me, like to sit either side of me on the seats facing into the aisle where each of them can keep an impatient finger on the bell waiting for my instruction to press the button and signal the bus to stop. Entire journeys have been spent with me imploring:
"No, not yet!" as they raced to be the first on the buzzer.
I am getting on pretty well knitting my Mighty Kickers footballer. Faris, you will remember, is learning football and I am keen that my knitted footballer
should wear the same kit as all the Mighty Kickers, despite the fact that this involves me in knitting a stripey shirt in white and grey decorated with little footballers. I was so very proud of myself until I suddenly realised that I had knitted the neckline
in red when it should have been white. I can't put it right, either, not unless I unpick the whole head, in all its knitted pink-ness. I'm pretty sure my daughter would tell me that her son is not likely to quibble over a neckline.
Anyway, the T Rex Super Charger Morpher is waiting for me in Argos so, in case it gets tired of waiting for me and morphs into Something Completely Different, I take the bus into town to collect it. The shop is practically deserted
- I don't even have a chance to sit on a chair in the Waiting Area and gaze expectantly at the TV on which the order numbers march across the screen until your time is up and you are instructed to go to Collection Point A. Or, possibly, Collection Point B.
I am a bit disappointed, to be honest, because this is all part of the fun, as far as I'm concerned - as is watching other people's purchases arriving in the lifts and being handed over. I like trying to guess whose order is whose, trying to match purchase
to purchaser. I like to think someone will be playing the same game, looking from the T Rex Super Charge Morpher to me and deciding: "Its a match!"
But, no, today I was taken straight to the collection counter
where my order was delivered in double quick time. I should have been delighted but, you know, there's no pleasing some folk.
At home I realise that I have completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper,
preferably Dinosaur Related. I don't even have the excuse of having spent ages in a queue at Argos. I am, however, delighted to discover a sign on the packaging of the T Rex Super Charge Morpher which reads, excitedly: "Try me!" Well, I mean, it would be rude
to refuse such a heartfelt entreaty, don't you agree?
I spend rather a lot of time squeezing the trigger so that I can test out the sounds. I'd like to say it is an awesomely accurate roar of a T Rex but,
then again, who really knows what a T Rex sounded like? Super charged or not.
Mr B keeps looking over at me, raising, as he does, a despairing eyebrow. I think it is fair to surmise that he is having difficulty
getting in touch with his Inner Dinosaur.
He just wants me to wrap it up. In more ways than one...