Out of any of the toys and games in our catalogue, this was probably the one that was most consistently denied us in our youth. Paradoxically, Mr Frosty is neither a toy nor a game. It’s just a thing we wanted, though it was very much situated somewhere within the last forty-or-so pages of Freemans, so it counts. The parental argument went something like this: it’ll join that collection of stuff you only use once and then leave in the back of the cupboard forever. This, of course, was completely correct (as anyone who’s ever owned a Soda Stream will be able to corroborate).