Ah, Christmas. That special time of year when the joy is palpable, the air is filled with twinkling lights, and every parent’s patience is stretched thinner than Santa’s waistband after a mince pie binge. Let’s talk about what it’s like for parents these days, because, oh boy, Christmas has changed over the years—and not always for the better.
When I was a kid, we had weeks of anticipation for Christmas. Remember the good old TV channels? All three of them. BBC1, BBC2, and yes, ITV. That last one was the wild card because it had—hold your breath—adverts! And what glorious adverts they were! Action Man parachuting off the couch, Mr. Potato Head losing his nose somewhere in the living room, and let’s not forget the cacophony of Buckaroo and the plastic carnage of Hungry Hungry Hippos. For the girls, it was Barbie and Cindy, who each seemed to have wardrobes more extensive than the Queen herself.

But the real magic? The real treat wasn’t in the glitzy commercial breaks or the wrapped-up boxes beneath the tree. No, the best part was seeing my dad disappear into the attic, night after night, tinkering away like some mad inventor. And what did he emerge with? Not just any old gift from a store, but a masterpiece of Meccano engineering. We’re not talking a little model car or train set—oh no, we’re talking full-fledged funfair rides. Imagine waking up to see a miniature Ferris wheel spinning in your living room, or an octopus ride that twisted and turned, driven by a little 12-volt motor that hummed like magic. Those were the best presents, bar none.
Of course, come Boxing Day, the fun didn’t stop at playing with these contraptions. Oh no, the real challenge was in dismantling the entire thing and trying to put it back together—possibly in a way that it was never intended to be assembled. And that’s how I got my first taste of basic mechanics. Screwdrivers became my best friends, and by the end of the week, I could deconstruct and reconstruct the whole thing blindfolded. Not bad for a kid whose main resource was a toolkit and a desire to take things apart.

Then there were the model airplanes. If I was particularly fortunate, I could get my hands on a balsa wood kit. And if I hit the jackpot, that balsa wood would be pre-stamped, so all I had to do was pop the wing ribs out like little puzzle pieces. Hours were spent gluing spars, building the wings, and covering the structure with tissue paper. And then—oh, the smell of cellulose dope as it tightened the tissue! Finally, you’d install a tiny diesel engine, fingers crossed that it would take to the sky without a nose-dive into the neighbor’s hedge.
Now, fast forward 50 years, and let’s take a look at Christmas for kids today. What do we see? Well, if they do manage to get interested in model-making (between rounds of Fortnite or whatever the latest game craze is), the models come in shiny pre-made boxes, injection-molded out of plastic. No hours of careful construction here. No, no, just snap on a wing, attach the tail, plug in a battery, and boom! It’s ready to fly. Or, more likely, crash into a tree before you’ve even managed to drink your first cup of mulled wine.
And that, my friends, is the crux of my rant. Today’s “youth,” as the tabloids like to call them, have no patience. If they can’t do it in five minutes, they won’t do it at all. Half the fun of building something is, well, building it. The sweat, the concentration, the frustration when you glue your fingers together or discover that one crucial piece has gone missing under the sofa. And then the satisfaction when it finally works—or at least resembles the picture on the box.
But let’s face it, most of today’s kids wouldn’t know a Meccano set if it hit them in the face (though don’t try this at home; the parts are surprisingly sharp). Unless it’s a downloadable app for their latest iPhone 46b or tablet, they won’t give it a second look. And while I’m on a roll about modern distractions, let me tell you about my recent drive through Dymchurch. There I was, minding my own business, when a man—head down, glued to his phone—walked right out in front of me! Oblivious to the world, to my car, and to the possibility of becoming part of my windscreen decor. But that’s a rant for another day.

You see, it used to be that we were a nation of shed inventors and eccentrics. You didn’t need much—just a bit of ingenuity, some spare parts, and perhaps a few strong cups of tea (or something stronger, if the project was particularly tricky). Watch a few episodes of Dragons’ Den, and you’ll see: half the products were probably dreamt up in a dusty old garden shed. But today, where are the inventors? The builders? The kids who aren’t afraid to get their hands a bit dirty?
Instead, we’re raising a generation who expect instant results, and if they don’t get them, they move on to the next distraction. And while I understand that times change and technology marches on, a part of me can’t help but feel a bit sorry for them. They’re missing out on the thrill of creating something from scratch, of failing and trying again, of staring at a bunch of random parts and seeing the potential for something marvelous.
So, as Christmas approaches, here’s to all the parents trying to find that balance. Those of you sneaking off to build something special, even if it’s just an Ikea bookcase disguised as Santa’s sleigh. Here’s to the kids who might, just might, take a break from their screens to make something with their hands—even if it’s just a mess of glue and glitter. And here’s to Christmas, in all its chaotic, wonderful, exhausting glory. May your wrapping paper be plentiful, your batteries fully charged, and your patience as infinite as the roll of sticky tape that somehow always goes missing right when you need it. Merry Christmas, you wonderful people. Enjoy every mad minute of it.