I don't know why I remembered it but my most short-lived present was the Wolverhampton Wanderers Subbuteo team in about 1969.
In the early days of Subbuteo there were two teams - reds and blues. Sort of vaguely Man Utd versus Everton. Then along came boxed teams in your favourite team's colours. They cost, in those pre-decimal days, 9/11. Just a fraction under 50p each. I know. Read it and weep baby.
So in my family were three adults (my Dad's sister lived with us), two children, two grand-parents who came for Christmas and two lively dogs. Subbuteo needed to be played on a table but if the dining room table was needed for Christmas dinner then the floor had to suffice.
There was not much floor space if you allowed room for discarded gift wrap and mutts. So I commandeered the carpet space just inside the lounge door. And here, in the middle of a game between Aston Villa and Wolves, my Gran entered. She was fit and lively but not that good with the old eyesight. Entering the room she trod on Derek Dougan. Hearing the cracking sound she stepped back and suffered Peter Knowles a double amputation. Further casualties followed.
There were, of course, apologies and I don't believe I was too devastated since glue fixed those fellers pretty well.
Grandpa Base died in 1985 aged 85. Gran died in 1991 aged 91 (she was born in 1899). RIP. Dad in 1999 aged 75. Ditto. Tiny and Dixie the dogs passed on in the 1970s. Wolves, glued back together, survive in a box in the loft (insert punch line) ready for grand kids. The real ones die regularly. They all gave me hours of pleasure.