During a phone call with my seven-year-old niece, Luna, three weeks ago, she cleverly manoeuvred our conversation to Christmas – and, in particular, to the subject of presents.
‘Auntie Kate, have you ever been to Sephora?’ she asked. ‘I went the other day. Daddy took me. I loved it.’
She then reeled off a list of expensive Sephora skincare products she wanted me to buy her.
I then heard her older sister, Ruby, in the background suggesting that a £50 voucher to use at its online beauty and make-up shop – which is currently all the rage on TikTok – might be a nice festive gift for them both.
Then there was some polite negotiation about the precise amount that Auntie Kate might spend.
Since it’s an auntie’s prerogative to spoil her nieces and nephews, inevitably, I set off to London’s Westfield shopping centre (and one of Sephora’s seven actual shops in the country) to buy their gift cards.
Ottie, six and I. Christmas as an auntie of with six nieces and four nephews is an expensive business
Ruby, nine, and Luna are just two of my six nieces and four nephews. Yes, Christmas as an auntie is an expensive business.
Indeed, Ottie, six, enjoys telling her friends: ‘My Auntie Kate has lots of money in her bank account.’
Don’t get me wrong. I love spoiling them all. Nothing makes me happier than buying them birthday and Christmas presents or, frankly, anything they ask me for.
But spare a thought, at this time of year, for those of us aunts, uncles and godparents who are seen as ever-dependable Santas with bottomless bank accounts.
As well as Luna, Ruby and Ottie, William, 17, would like some money for new trainers; Harry, 12, and Frankie, ten, are eyeing JD Sports vouchers; Alba, seven, wants a pair of sparkly boots, and, I’m reliably informed that Jaxon, two, wants a policeman’s outfit.
Then there’s little Kitty, who, aged two, has not voiced a request – but I suspect she’ll have her own wish-list in a year or two.
After 13-year-old Olivia asked for an expensive mirror as a present this year, I recalled ten years ago when I once collected her from pre-school and heard as she told her teacher: ‘This is Auntie Katie. She buys us stuff so we love her.’
All this is quite a contrast to my own Christmases as a child, which were far more modest. Back then, children were reminded that December 25 was not just about presents. I remember, one year, being dragged in protest to Midnight Mass – though we behaved so badly it didn’t happen again.
Rather than gift lists being drawn up from whatever is trending on TikTok, we’d pore over the Argos catalogue. My favourite ever present was a Queen’s Park Rangers shell suit.
The contents of our Christmas stockings were sparse, though there would always be a satsuma and a chocolate coin. One year, there was a Boyzone CD of their first single, a cover of The Osmonds’ hit Love Me For A Reason. I don’t think I stopped playing it all day. Hours would be spent playing the board game Game Of Life, before sitting down to watch Coronation Street and EastEnders.
Another central part of Christmas Days past was the seemingly endless round of phone calls to relatives. How different now. This year, there will be numerous FaceTime calls.
My nieces Olivia, 13, Kitty, two and Ottie, six in front of a Christmas tree. At this time of year aunts, uncles and godparents who are seen as ever-dependable Santas with bottomless bank accounts
I can already imagine my niece Ottie gleefully telling all her friends about her pile of presents.
Yesterday, she called me in advance to tell me she couldn’t wait for me to join the family gathering this weekend. Informing me of her plans (we usually play ‘hotels’), she said that she and I would be sharing her older sister’s room.
‘We are going to have a proper girls’ night,’ she said.
‘We’ll do skincare, make-up, have a feast (before Father Christmas comes) and watch The Grinch,’ she told me, excitedly.
It brought a tear to my eye. And almost prompted me to buy her another present.
