Filed away in my parents’ house I found this letter that I wrote to Father Christmas when I was 5:
Why a little girl from a Jewish family was writing to Father Christmas in the first place is a subject for another day…
The paper is blackened with soot because it had been sent up our chimney (obviously the only way to communicate with Santa Claus) and, as my father has noted at the bottom, was subsequently retrieved from the garden.
The first thing that might strike you about this Christmas list is the paper it’s written on. It advertises:
ANUSOL: Soothes painful piles and anal irritation
My father practised as a GP in a large Sunderland health centre and drug companies constantly tried to seduce him with freebies, including this branded paper.
Practically everything in our house seemed to have the name of a drug company on it: paper, pens, calendars, mugs…
My parents always welcomed these gifts enthusiastically. I’m pretty sure that we would have had a sofa with Amoxicillin-branded cushions or a car painted with the Nurofen logo, had they been offered to us.
I remember one of the free items was a gadget that would cut through your seat belt if you found yourself entangled in it due to a car crash. I’m not sure what was written on it. Perhaps, “You’ll never feel trapped with Laxido”.
I think there’s a curious psychology surrounding the idea of the ‘free gift’. (Incidentally, the term itself is tautological: if it’s a gift, then you’d expect it to be free.) We have a tendency to accept things that are free, even if we have no desire for them whatsoever.
I re-entered office life last year after nine years of working from home. I was bizarrely excited about every aspect of the corporate world because I’d spent so long away from it. One day I emailed my husband Anthony in great excitement, saying,
“They’re giving away free porridge with golden syrup in every kitchen!”
“But you don’t like porridge…” he replied.
“Yes,” I said, “but it feels really good to know that if I did like it, I could have it. And for free!”
More recently, in my current office, these boxes turned up containing packets of microwavable ‘express’ sweetcorn:
This photo was taken only about 5 minutes after they’d arrived and already the boxes are half empty. By the time the email came round saying ‘There are packets of microwavable sweetcorn in the kitchens’, the whole lot had already been snaffled.
Now sweetcorn is, admittedly, quite a useful thing. Most people like a bit of sweetcorn with their dinner now and again. But nobody could claim it was exciting. I’m not sure the fact that it ‘heats in 1 minute’ really made much difference either. I don’t generally think, ‘I would eat sweetcorn much more often if only it didn’t take so long to prepare…’.
No, the speed with which those packets vanished was, I’m sure, almost entirely due to the mysterious power of the ‘free gift’.
Anyway, back to the Anusol…
I can only assume that Father Christmas was not impressed with my choice of writing paper because, despite having requested it in my letter, I wasn’t given a Cindy (sic), and certainly didn’t receive ‘all the clothes and all the furniture’ to accompany her. Which just goes to show that presentation really matters: sometimes it’s worth ignoring the free gift and spending a bit of money.
If you would like more of this sort of nonsense, why not ‘like’ my Facebook page – or take a look at it, at any rate?