STORY BEAR

Mum, I don’t mean to be rude, especially as it’s Christmas Day, but what the Hell is this supposed to be?

Paddington Bear? Paddington! That’s not a Paddington. It’s some cheap made in a Taiwan sweatshop knock off. Did you buy it in Poundland? It’s just an ordinary scraggy teddy bear in a plastic tarpaulin rain-coat/ It probably defies consumer health and safety laws too. I might choke on one of its safety pins, especially as I’m only forty-nine years old.

I was rather hoping for a Wi-player, but I suppose I should be grateful. As they say, it’s the thought that counts, and the thought was obviously how to spend hardly any money at all – I expect the wrapping paper is worth more than the bear. If television ever make a show about Paddington’s stepbrother, who stayed in Peru and starved to death, this bear will be perfect for the role.

I’d like to assure you that I’ll treasure the bear for the rest of my life, but in truth, the next chance I get I’m putting him in a little wicker basket Wicker Man and setting light to him as a sacrifice to all the gods who care to listen, for something good by way of a present next Christmas.

Arthur Chappell.