You don't have to be the most eagle-eyed Christmas shopper to spot that Furbies are back.
Yes, the love-them-or-hate-them battery-operated creatures have been relaunched once again after a gap of eight years.
When they first appeared in the late 1990s, I was still in the relatively early stages of courting Vanessa. And I thought I would do something both ingenious and romantic.
That's right, I would buy Vanessa a Furby for her birthday.
One that looked exactly like this, in fact.
Isn't he/she/it lovely? Awww.
Her reaction: "You bought me a Furby?"
Then reaction I had hoped for: "You bought me a Furby!"
(It's all in the grammar).
As the days and weeks passed, Vanessa and her Furby did not grow close. Indeed, the poor thing became more of an ornament than a pet (if you can call something shoved on top of a bookcase, surrounded by an assortment of non-decorative items, an ornament. I'd say you probably couldn't).
As weeks became months, nothing changed.
That was until Wee John came over to our flat in Clapham Junction - Vanessa and I had shacked up by this stage - to watch the rugby on TV. And His Weeness got carried away.
So carried away did he get, that he decided to do his Jonny Wilkinson impersonation.
And drop-kicked the poor, unloved, unwanted Furby against our landing wall.
Finally coming to rest at the bottom of the stairs, he/she/it never did make another sound.
A waste of a life? You could say that.
A waste of forty quid. Absolutely, bloody definitely.
Without wishing to give too much away, I can exclusively reveal here that Mrs W will not be getting another one for Christmas.
