Forty-six years ago today, I sneaked out of my 7th birthday party and went to the local toy shop to buy the toy that I really wanted, the LEGO 850 Technic forklift truck.
No more parties
A few years before she died, I asked my mum, “Why did I go to London for my eighth birthday?
She told me that hosting birthday children’s parties had become a bit too stressful, so for my eighth birthday she arranged to take me to London to see The King and I at the theatre (starring Yul Brynner) and visit Hamley’s toy shop on Regent Street.
“What was the name of that boy in your class?” she asked and described him.
“Oh, you mean [REDACTED]?”
“Yes! That’s him. He’s the reason I stopped hosting birthday parties. He was wild!
Longing
For weeks before my seventh birthday, I would always stop at Paterson’s toy shop on Selkirk high street and gaze longingly at the yellow LEGO Technic forklift truck in the window.
If only I had the money to confidently walk in and buy it—but, as I recall, it was around £10 (approximately £50 in 2024’s money).
Maybe I’d get it for my birthday. I’d dropped enough hints.
Or maybe I’d get enough money to be able to afford it.
My last birthday party
I returned home from school on my seventh birthday with a few friends in tow.
I imagine Mum must have been on a nursing night shift the night before, as she often was, and must have been exhausted.
Coats were dumped, cards and presents unwrapped, juice and cakes were rolled out and the party games were in full flow.
I’ve always been something of an introvert. And parties were often a bit too much for me. Too loud, too busy, too much competition to get the best cakes from the table.
At one point, I excused myself to visit the bathroom and get some headspace.
On my way back to the living room, I passed the dining room and got drawn in to the pile of cards, presents and cash on the dining room table.
I opened all the cards and withdrew the various green pound notes.
As I counted them, I began to get excited.
“Eight… nine… ten… eleven!”
I had enough! I had enough money to buy the LEGO 850 Technic forklift truck.
Oh what joyous rapture!
So, I put on my school jacket, slid the cash into my pocket and left the house. Everyone would be too distracted to notice if I nipped out for 20 minutes.
It was only a few minutes’ walk to the high street. I glanced in the window to make sure the LEGO set was still there and then pushed open the heavy door. A bell tinkled to alert the shop owner.
A few minutes later, I returned to the high street, ten pounds lighter and beaming with delight. The forklift truck was now mine.
I raced back home, flung off my parka jacket, spilled the box contents onto the dining room table and started to build.
A few minutes later, my mum came in.
“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking for you.”
“I went to the toy shop. Look! I got the LEGO set that I wanted. With my birthday money.”
“Come back to the party—your friends are here to celebrate with you.”
She dragged me back into the fray and I was forced into take part in party games and eat birthday cake and drink cups of weak orange squash.
All the while, I longed to get back to my new LEGO set. Eventually my friends left and I could complete building my prized forklift truck.
All parties are better with LEGO. Why have I only just learned this lesson now?
