Doing so in the current climate of woe, penury & ruination, however, might seem crass and brazenly ostentatious. Like driving a diamond-encrusted SUV through a soup kitchen full of orphans. Thank the thirty lords, then, for "Footsie" – 25 cents worth of not-much-fun.

Rule number 1: If you're peddling a toy that's highly likely to disappoint, don't (whatever you do) put illustrations of crushed & disappointed-looking children on the packet. It rather gives the game away. In fairness to the boy, I suppose, he is at least attempting a half-hearted "Hey! This is brilliant!" act of denial. The girl, in contrast, is in no mood for mendacity. It's fucking rubbish…and she knows it.

Though I've deduced that hopping is somehow involved, I cheerily admit to being a bit fuzzy on exactly what Footsie is supposed to do. Given the name, with its connotations of gentle physical flirtation, might it be a tool for early sexual exploration? One that doesn't involve an invasion of private space?

"I daren't speak to Lucy…or even go very near her. If I could, though, just get my Footsie ball to cannon into hers…I'm sure she'd know something of my love."

Or could (as I suspect) these apparently harmless items instead be the heralds of a brutal, recession-driven, dystopia? One in which robotic orbs drag idle kiddies off to government-run slave labour camps?

I'm telling you. It's only a matter of time.