I am a marketing department’s wet dream. Give me 20 years and I’ll be the crazy old lady with a house full of Franklin Mint porcelain dolls and plate. My latest collector madness has me alterately jogging or trudging to the newsagent at 6.30am every morning for the David-Attenborough-DVD-a-day offer from the Daily Telegraph. I must get there early, I’m petrified they’ll run out. I cannot skip a single day of forking out $3 for my 15-part David Attenborough DVD series. I try not to dwell on the fact it’ll eventually cost me $44 for my latest “score” (no, no, I didn’t factor in $1.60 on Saturdays and $2 on Sundays, so it’s actually $47.20). I’m also trying not to think about all the dinosaur skeletons I purchased during a previous Daily Telegraph marketing exercise, which we gave up on making after about the fourth one but continued to religiously collect. Or the Harry Potter series, heaven knows where that folder of useless merchandise ended up, and all the extra wands I bought on Sundays so both Sprogs could have one. I’m the same when it comes to collecting little toy widgety things. Squinkies, Party Animals, Mooshi Monsters, Go Go Crazy Bones, Polly Pocket, Littlest Pet Shop. So small, so cute! Unfortunately the Sprogs aren’t quite so fascinated. Well, they’re completely captivated when they first get them, because they’re new. But the novelty lasts all of five minutes. For them. For me, the obsession lives on, especially when I spot them on sale somewhere. After standing on one too many pointy little toy widgety things, abandoned around the house, I created a big coffin box for them. And buried it in the playroom. It’s been weeks and the Sprogs still haven’t noticed they’re gone. May they rest in peace. Perhaps the grandkids will play with them one day, while I’m dusting all my Franklin Mint.