Up until this weekend Kitty had never to my knowledge encountered Moshi Monsters. Mickey and Minnie, Winnie the Pooh or the Disney Princesses? Yes, yes, and oh so yes (we realised on Sunday that the extremely effective use of a Princess sticker album as a reward chart means that both H and I can identify each princess by eyes alone). But Moshi Monsters? She’s a little young to be their target audience, and as the packaging isn’t pink and purple it won’t have drawn her eye in the supermarket.
We’re also pretty careful about what marketing she’s exposed to; if she’s going to watch a little telly it’s usually something pre-recorded or CBeebies, and the ad breaks in Sky’s cricket coverage isn’t exactly filled to the gunwales with plugs for pre-schoolers. It’s not all for naught (or if it is, please leave me my innocence for a little while longer), and I remain convinced that protecting tiny girls from as much advertising as I can is the way to go, at least until they’re old enough to have a discussion about persuasion and peer pressure.
But when it comes to my daughter it turns out that some things just have innate toddler appeal.
As the contents of my BritMums goodie bags spilled out over the floor of our hotel room on Saturday night, a little gold foil packet slid out of an Argos bag and shimmied across the floor to come to rest by H’s feet.
He peeled open the packet, tipped two tiny plastic figures into his palm and turned to me,
“To be honest, they look a bit rubbish.”
But as he spoke, a small warm chocolate smeared hand shot out from a rapidly advancing toddler and swiftly scooped up both into a protective embrace. And as she looked at Topsy Turvy and Raarghly* with what can only be described as pure adoration she turned to H with a little frown;
“I love rubbish. It’s so coot!”
* And yes, I did have to google to check the spelling.