Is it me or is there a ring of familiarity to the gloomy announcement this week that shops are heading for the worst Christmas ever? I seem to recall that they said something similar last Christmas, and the one before that, too. If memory serves, what usually happens is that retail doom is forecast in early December, then in January it is announced that a last-minute surge brought better than expected sales.

You would have thought by now that our major retailers would have realised that when it comes to Christmas, shoppers divide into two categories: those who’ve done it all by the first week of December, and the rest of us. As it is the rest of us who are in the majority, it is really not surprising that retail figures do not rise to a crescendo until Christmas Eve.

I say the rest of us. Actually, this year, I intended to be able to say, the rest of you. Just this once, I told myself in November, I am going to have everything bought, and wrapped, by the end of the first week of December. I will then drift through the greater part of the festive season in a sort of glorious domestic goddess/party chick combo, baking mince pies and attending festive gatherings in a flirty new frock.

And so I turned to one of the top items on my list: my six-year-old son’s main present, a Lego Star Wars Trade Federation MTT vehicle, with storm troopers, advertised heavily on television at £79.99 and his heart’s desire. If Father Christmas could bring him only one thing, let it be this.

I looked in Peter Jones, and Woolworths. No. I tried Toys ‘R’ Us, Hamleys, Argos and everywhere else I could think of online. No. Sold out. Never mind, I thought, we’re still in November, plenty of time, they’re bound to restock. But by the end of November they were still sold out, so I e-mailed Lego customer services. Their reply was prompt: “LEGO Star Wars set 7662 will not be in stock any more. Thanks again for getting in touch.”

I e-mailed back: “Are you seriously telling me that even before December, a Lego toy that was advertised extensively on television will not be available for Christmas? If you are serious, can you explain why?”

And back came the reply: “It’s always great to hear from loyal LEGOî fans, but I’m afraid we don't make that LEGO set any more. The MTT has sold extremely quickly beyond anything that we forecast. . . This set will not be in stock for Christmas and has been cancelled . . . ” Its license agreement with Lucas Films only allowed it to produce a certain amount of items, it added.

I broke the news that Father Christmas had been in touch to say that there were too many children all over the world wanting the Star Wars Trade Federation thingy and that it was unlikely that he would be able to deliver one. My son was shocked, and dismayed. I jollied him along as best I could, and we went out to buy a birthday present for a party he was going to. Nearby was a small antique shop where years ago I’d bought our cutlery; I needed more and went in. I spent a happy 10 minutes in the back of the shop choosing spoons before turning to find one small boy utterly entranced.

To him this was a treasure trove; we spent at least 20 minutes more while he examined object after object, enraptured. By the end, all thoughts of Lego Star Wars Trade Federation had been banished. Instead he wanted Father Christmas to bring him a pair of 1930s racing binoculars in a tan leather case (£45); a Victorian brass concierge bell (£15); a 1920s green perfume bottle (for making potions, £18) and a 1930s tape measure in a Bakelite case (£15).

Early the next morning I went back, not wanting Father Christmas to be caught out a second time. The shop was shut but a man was inside and seeing me peering in, opened up, anxious not to miss a sale. Unlike that of our major retail stores, you see, the outlook appears genuinely bleak for antique shops, which are not expecting to benefit from a last-minute festive shopping surge. The man told me that there’s no future in the antiques business; everyone had gone minimalist now, he said sadly, and so demand for antiques had never been lower. Meanwhile, rents had never been higher. Add to that the cost of driving around the country to find pieces and you were doing it for love, not money.

He’s right about the minimalist trend. Everyone I know who’s moved or installed a new kitchen has gone down that route; meanwhile, a colleague told me how she’d spent the weekend at the new eco-home of some friends. It had solar heating, exposed walls with cabling snaking up them, and no storage space. It was ill-designed but that didn’t stop it being the last word in consumer chic.

Hmm, said the antique-shop man, going green was all very well, but wasn’t it just as green to do what we’ve been doing in Britain for years – buying old houses and filling them with old furniture?

I came home to our Victorian, nonminimalist home feeling virtuous. I had ensured that a small boy’s faith in Father Christmas would be restored, and shopped green as well!

The next day my son bounced in to say that while he still really, really wants the 75-year-old binoculars, the bottle and the tape measure, could I just check with Father Christmas one last time about the Trade Federation vehicle. If it was definitely off, did I think he could also ask him for either the remote-controlled Dalek (£99) or the Lego Star Wars Death Star (£249) that he’d just seen advertised on TV?

Who can blame him for wanting the products that are sold to him unremittingly? He’s only 6, after all. But I’ve learnt something from the experience in the antique shop – the ghost of Christmas past, if you like – which is that instead of panic buying this year’s must-have toy, we could be more creative and offer some lateral alternatives. Recyling’s all the rage; why not go green the unfashionable way this Christmas, and boost both our children’s imaginations and our antiques trade at the same time?

Sir Ian pulls it off

It seems that Shakespeare’s back in fashion. Yesterday The Times described Michael Grandage’s production of Othello, with Ewan McGregor at the Donmar Warehouse, as the hottest ticket in town, with some fetching £800 on eBay, while others are being offered at £2,000. Meanwhile, Patrick Stewart won the Evening Standard’s Best Actor Award for Macbeth in a sellout run that ended last month, and Sir Ian McKellen is playing to full houses at the New London Theatre in King Lear.

Which is not to say that the Bard makes for easy viewing, or undivided opinions. While our own Benedict Nightingale gave Othello a rave with four stars, the Telegraph’s Charles Spencer (who coined the phrase, “pure theatrical Viagra” for Nicole Kidman and Iain Glen’s performance in The Blue Room at the Donmar a few years ago) gave it a pasting and said he’d be “reluctant to part with a tenner” for McGregor’s portrayal of Iago. I know two people who saw Stewart’s Macbeth and said it was fabulous, and another who said it was dull and disappointing.

I haven’t seen either Macbeth or Othello, but on Monday night I saw McKellen’s Lear, having bought tickets in July (they can’t be had for love or money now, I hear). He is truly magnificent, in more ways than one – as he is raging with madness in the storm and wind, he divests himself of his trousers and gives the audience a prolonged naked, full-frontal view. I heard at least one man in the row in front muttering that it was one thing to find the play tiring (3hr 40min with only one 20-minute interval), quite another to find it demoralising as well. Such is Sir Ian’s stature that he manages to pull off both length of performance and, er, well, let’s just say length, with not a rival in sight.

Princely pride

I loved reading Prince Charles’s history book with its account of the Battle of Hastings. But best of all was the delicious contrast of his reference to “William” (minus “the Conqueror”) with his own inscription of “Prince Charles” in large capitals on the front of his exercise book.

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