Tuesday, 10 December 2013

The Flying Furby

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.