“I reckon a dirt bike was at the top of my Christmas list for about six years”

Back when I was a kid, by this time of year a list of things I wanted for Christmas would’ve been attached to the fridge with four magnets to be sure no rogue wind could blow my hopes and dreams away.

As the big day loomed I’d recheck the list often as sometimes, to my dismay, I’d find a parent had made some amendments, adding notes alongside my desires like, “You already have one of these!” Or, even worse, I’d enter the kitchen and clock that my top request, “a dirt bike”, would be crossed off the list altogether with “too dangerous” scribbled next to it. I reckon a dirt bike was at the top of my Christmas list for about six years running. To be honest, there’s still a part of me that would love to hear the sound of an 80cc engine revving up on Christmas morning.

The next item on the Christmas list was a ready substitute for the dirt bike. Should my parents for whatever reason be unable to source a dirt bike, I was graciously willing to accept a horse. Which must’ve taken the pressure off them, knowing I’d be just as happy with either. Just whichever farm-based transport they felt able to gift me. Did I mention that we lived in Ferny Hills on a very non-rural, 607sq m block? Mere details.

In order to appear reasonable, I’d throw in some low-hanging fruit to bulk out the list. In my mind, these smaller, more affordable requests would serve to further highlight the big ticket items at the top. I’d add things like tartan shorts, gel pens, an East 17 poster. I knew if I added in something pricey as well as the horse and dirt bike, I’d end up with that as my big gift, and no horse or motorbike would ever turn up.

After a few sustained weeks of non-stop banter about how a horse would change my life, or how I’d be exceptionally well-behaved from being so tired from cleaning my dirt bike, Mum would grab the list off the fridge, running her eye down it addressing each item as she went, “Nope, well that’s not going to happen is it? A horse? Come on. The last shorts I bought you, you hated.

“Where do they sell these so-called gel pens?” she’d ask, landing on one of my filler items. Mums always add in the phrase “so-called” when they haven’t heard of something before and want more information but don’t want to appear to be behind the times. Or, alternatively if it’s a person they haven’t heard of they’ll ask, “Who’s this Post Malone character when he’s at home?” Then, no matter how eloquently you explain who Post Malone is, mums will close the chat off with, “Sounds like a bit of a legend in his own lunchbox to me”. Leaving you flailing to try and explain cool to someone who thinks Rod Stewart is sexy.

Writing out my Christmas list was something I used to put a lot of thought and strategy behind.

The past few years I’ve been unable to think of something I want. I asked for big glass jars for my last birthday. The sort of jars you’d see in an organised person’s pantry, with proper labels, not just the front of the flour packet cut off and shoved in there just to get lost and turn up as an unwanted guest in a bechamel one day.

I haven’t drafted a Christmas list for years, but this year it’s coming back. I think if, like me, you’ve been deemed “difficult to buy for” perhaps giving your family a few clues isn’t the worst idea. Also, I reckon “difficult to buy for” just means we have good taste in dirt bikes and horses.