Twenty years since she last walked into a toy shop, Fiona McCannreturns to find plastic laptops, talking dolls, eco-friendly castles of doom and a life-enhancing wooden toaster
Bless me father for I've grown up: it's been 20 years since my last toy shop. Truth is, without children of my own, or even nieces, nephews, or neighbourly offspring, I had no occasion to visit one, and spent much of my adult life unaware that Heelys weren't just evening shoesies and Bratz did not refer to other people's illiterate children.
The last time kiddies' toys played any part in my life, the Minipops were topping the charts and Lolo Balls were de rigeur. Since then, I've been living in a relatively toy-free zone until the arrival of my first niece sent me zooming off to Jervis Street like an Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle, in search of modern-day playthings for Iseult.
Despite a strong desire to head straight for the tack and plastic that is my natural home, I did at least begin with a quick nip into the Early Learning Centre in an attempt at responsible aunthood. And lo, as I searched for toys to improve my niece's mind, it turned out that every single toy out there can improve my niece's mind, if you try hard enough to market it that way. Well. I'm willing to accept the claims that the Honey Bee Tree helps children with their "fine motor skills" and "problem solving": after all, if you don't pull out the tiny plastic leaves in time the bees will fall down and then duh, you have a problem - who wants fallen bees on their hands? It does, however, seem to me that the best lesson here would be to teach children to stay away from bees altogether. As I do not wish for Iseult to be stung by angry insects no matter how fine her motor skills, I move on.
The baking and cooking section seems like a place one might learn things of benefit, the kind of skills that could earn her points should she ever appear on Big Brother or Ready Steady Cook. The first thing I find is a wooden smoothie-maker, a discovery from which I shy away, reflective as it is of the sorry downward spiral of Irish society from fried rashers to squashed fruit. But look! There's also a wooden toaster, which promises not only help Iseult learn how to "make friends" and "enjoy company", but will also "instil confidence, helping her feel secure and happy and enjoy good self esteem".
Enjoy good self esteem? Because she can make fake plastic toast? Who knew it was so easy! Enough of the worthy. Toys, I have once again been reminded, are meant to be fun - and not because you're laughing at them - so I gravitate with some excitement towards the Tower of Doom. The Tower of Doom! No esteem-boosting properties here, one imagines - it promises evil, malice and DOOM! I am at once captivated by its menacing exterior until I notice that the packaging is at pains to clarify that the Tower of Doom is made from Forest-Friendly Wood. Well it's hardly the Tower of Doom then, is it? The Tower of Doom to All But Forests! Bah.
The abundance of wholesome playthings has left me cold, and I am in need of the kind of nasty additive-rush that I haven't got since E123 was an acceptable food ingredient. Smyths toy mecca beckons, where I aim to lose myself in the plastic delights of children's toys and the aisles and aisles of playthings for the 21st-century kid who has it all but wants more anyway.
My, how things have changed since the days of Fisher-Price record-players and space-hoppers. Plastic laptops abound, play kitchens have phones in them, everything is branded and Bratz have taken over the free world. Incidentally, this year you can get the most pose-able Bratz ever! Pose-able? Since when has that been a desirable characteristic for your doll? Come to think of it, since when has Roscommon been the most expensive property on Monopoly? There's little I recognise, although this may be because my vision has become impaired by the plethora of pink. Ah, how far we've come. Now children's kitchens have telephones in them, but girls continue to get pink toys.
Still, in a nod to the joyous gender stereotyping of my youth, I proceed to the baby doll section to find something for my niece.
All I can say is thank God those waxy-looking baldies are in boxes! Aisles and aisles of baby faces stare glassily at me, lifelike in their vacant expressions and pursed lips, their little plastic baby hands clenched in rigid, vice-like grips. On closer inspection, they all appear to have talking capabilities too, which makes me even more grateful that the batteries are not included. It is a staggering, nauseating array: rows upon rows of Baby Borns, Baby Annabells, Baby Aimees, Baby Petites. It appears toy companies have a little bit to learn about family planning.
What to purchase is another question entirely, and frankly with so much competition out there these days, baby dolls have had to broaden their repertoire in order to capture the attention of your discerning two-to-six year-old. Baby Alive wets and wiggles, as nobody has thought to tell her it's nothing to be proud of, while Fisher-Price My Baby plays peek-a-boo and can hold her teddy all by herself, fair play to her. But can she beat Talking and Singing Lisa, who can speak to you in full sentences despite otherwise resembling a three-month-old baby?
Then there's Dancing Baby With Magic Rattle who does a disturbing shimmy to the strains of B-I-N-G-O. Baby Aoife burps - yes! Burps! - while Chou Chou Mummy Make Me Better (to use her full name) has a pink bruise which disappears and reappears. Hard to top, despite Sneezing Baby's valiant efforts.
The clear non-contender is Lifelike Baby Expressions Doll, mainly because she is the ugliest, most Yoda-looking doll on the block, although her shtick is that her face boasts a range of expressions to put Nicole Kidman to shame. Four, to be exact.
Perhaps I should eschew life-like dolls altogether, and go for something that doesn't even attempt to resemble human form. There's a best-friend robot called Sakura. Apparently, you can tell her your secrets and she won't tell anyone. Hmmm, you think that might be because she's a doll?
In fairness to Sakura, if she does keep mum, she'll be the only thing in Santa's busy workshop that does. These days, you're not a real toy until you can address your owner. Even Girls' World, the free-floating hair-styling head, is talking now. Then there are newcomers Podge and Rodge who have their own stud-farmer dolls on sale that enunciate such delightful early-learning phrases as "Ya scuttering gobsheen" and "Axe the back of me sack".
But somewhere in this morass of all-singing, all-dancing, all-in-your-face toys there are old favourites that have changed little enough to send me spinning into nostalgia. Tiny Tears is still there, and although she has been rebranded as Classic Tiny Tears, it's somehow good to know there are dolls out there that still only cry and wet their nappies. Games like Connect 4, Cluedo and Guess Who? are also still on the shelves, although with newfangled graphics and packaging.
It's also nice to see the Game of Life still doing the rounds, and rumour has it that while new "Life" elements have been added that include recycling and computer consultant jobs, it still works on much the same premise as it used to. Mind you, in my day, the smart move for a Game of Lifer was to go into journalism, as hacks were the highest paid in the game, reeling in a cool £20,000 - a damn sight more than the lawyers and streets ahead of paltry businessmen. Imagine how such a game would improve Iseult's skills as a fantasist? Maybe I'll buy her a Honey Bee Tree after all.
