Beware ... Christmas in July

Buyers, be aware …

The festive season will be here before we know it. In fact, with no regard for the calendar, it has arrived this month in the wake of a flurry of emails and “special offers” landing, urging us to buy, buy, buy for those near and dear because the Santa shindig is a mere six months yonder and we need to pick up our game, by which I don’t mean Monopoly: Christmas Edition.

Ah, yes, Christmas in July.

It is most ridiculous marketing and retail concept yet invented. And it’s not just about cosying up to friends and relatives but spoiling ourselves silly because no one wants to be left out. Retail therapy? It makes me want to retreat to the attic and wait for winter to pass.

But then, I would be left out as, of course, with predictable greed, retailers are on the “me gifts” wagon as well.

So, fellow travellers, why not spoil yourself by ordering a “Starscope Monocular” with the promise of “seeing everything from miles away like you’re standing next to it”. Handy, I reckon, for spotting stray luggage atop a towering carousel at an international airport.

Or even more nifty in such a situation, where abseiling could be involved to drag a bag, would be a folding mesh ladder that miraculously fits in a backpack.

Less convenient, as I now realise, is ordering a “Pocket Scope Portable Microscope” and “STEM Night Vision Spy Goggles” for my seven-year-old granddaughter’s birthday and discovering they are pixie-sized.

In the digital catalogue, each commanded a full page against a backdrop of the Milky Way. Her feedback suggests that she’s more startled than starstruck and she’s offered the duo of miniature whatnots to a couple of her favourite Smurfs. Those little tinkers are still popular, apparently, although superseded, as far as I can tell, by toy shop “emotional feeling bears” with “mood-matching personalities”.

I know we live in an electronic age and ordering online is swift and easy, especially for “funny stocking stuffers”, unless they’re made in a country where English is not the first language. A “bell” button lint brush for the person who has everything except a clean navel? The booklet prefers “naval”. Hello, sailors.

Or perhaps choose a “custom Mini-Me doll with flexible arms and legs”? Less ambiguous are “bin chicken” socks patterned with those nosy ibis that strut around rootling for rubbish and who needs to be reminded of that unattractive scenario but, hey, hello to those hard-to-buy-for grandpas and uncles with dodgy ankles.

Or how about a copy of The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump? Yes, it’s real. The book that is, not the verse. It’s in the joke section, along with Reindeer Piss stickers to paste over real labels on wine bottles. Talk about diluting the spirit of Christmas, whether in December or July.

So, buyer beware, I say.

And not just around Christmas. Recently, I booked international business-class return tickets online and was emailed by the airline and prompted to choose my seats. Oh, OK. Window-side pods in both directions, please. Thank you, Susan. That will be $226.

I emailed a query about the expense and was briskly informed by a chat-room bot that I could either pay up or be seated anywhere on board.

By that, I presumed unwanted relegation next to the toilets.

Perhaps the Hello Kitty and Friends rechargeable handheld fan would come into its own in such an odorous circumstance. Sneeze and wheeze in any season, I presume.