THE words of children's author Anne Fine were ringing in my ears as I lugged my third black bin bag of old toys, games, books and videos off to the charity shop this week.

She was, commendably, urging Northern Echo readers to spend money helping those in developing countries rather than wasting it on gifts we can easily do without. "We are all drowning in a sea of stuff that we don't have any room for," she said.

Too true, I thought, as I struggled to clear enough space in our house for the latest torrent of toys, games, books and videos that is about to engulf us this Christmas.

A new survey reveals parents will spend an average £223 on boys (less on girls, apparently) this Christmas. Multiply that by five and our bill comes to £1,115. Once you add the money spent by our large extended, and incredibly generous, family of grandparents, aunts, uncles and assorted cousins, the total is almost obscene. By December 24 in our house we can barely move for the boxes and parcels. The pile of presents has now grown taller than the tree, and it's a pretty big tree. Come Christmas morning, it's a scene of pure, materialistic carnage.

Gone are the days when the children would be happy playing with a few cardboard boxes and a wooden spoon. Now they want the latest expensive new technology, or all-singing, all dancing huge lumps of brightly coloured plastic.

The six-year-old's favourite pastime at this time of year is going through the Argos catalogue methodically, page by page, jabbing his finger as he chants: "I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that."

But when I look at all these gleaming new toys and games I can't help visualising them cracked and damaged, with vital pieces missing. That's what comes of years of experience of gathering broken bits and pieces and chucking out the rubbish.

I can just picture that Action Man being churned up and spat out by the lawnmower, the remote control for the stunt car cracking in two as someone accidentally stands on it and bits of the new board game getting lost among the Lego.

We have tried to cut back. One friend came up with the ingenious idea of digging out some of the bigger boys' old toys and cleaning them up and re-wrapping them for the younger ones. I was tempted.

Last year, we even bought the children a goat, donated through a charity to a village in Africa. It didn't go down as well as we'd hoped. "A goat that we can't see? Duh...thanks mum," moaned the older boys.

Their younger brother loved the idea. Except he wanted the goat in our garden. Failing that, he wanted to go to Africa to play with it there. And then he noticed the charity's catalogue also offered camels and donkeys. "I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that," he said.

The older boys had a point. While the sentiment is worthy, when I was a child a gift my parents had already donated to someone else would not have been my ideal present either.

So this year, we are still buying the goats, but giving them to adults. And we are trying to persuade the children to think of "an experience", rather than a possession, they might like for Christmas.

Surfing lessons, a cookery class with a master chef or a trip to see the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford were some of our suggestions.

Two of the boys said they would like bass guitar lessons. But, as they pointed out, this would mean we'd have to buy them guitars as well. Clever.

Meanwhile, the six-year-old has started reading the Argos catalogue to his three-year-old brother. It's become essential bedtime reading. They even sing themselves to sleep: "I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that..."

I SEE other mums in the charity shops struggling to put together costumes for school plays and nativities. This year I have got off lightly. I have one reindeer (brown clothes, playgroup provides the antlers), a child in old-fashioned nightwear (checked button-front pyjamas) and an army major (uniform provided). I did feel sorry, though, for the mother whose child told her he was going to be a leopard. Thankfully, she spoke to the teacher before starting work on the costume. He's a shepherd.

FINANCIAL Times journalist Matthew Engel spoke this weekend about the heartbreak of losing his 13-year-old son to a rare, aggressive cancer. He described their idyllic family life before the diagnosis: good jobs, two lively children, a lovely home, but: "We were not quite as happy as we bloody well should have been." It made me think...

Published: 08/12/2005