Resembling nothing more than a vehicle from Captain Scarlet And The Mysterons redesigned by Clive Sinclair¹, Big Trak was controlled, as the presenters of Tomorrow’s World breathlessly related, by that all-important “silicon chip”². With just a few taps on the keypad, this fully programmable beast could be instructed to move and turn in different directions, fire up its “photon cannon”, and make a couple of modish electronic noises. It was, of course, mainly used to frighten the family pet.

The novelty was that it was ostensibly capable of navigating a path around cumbersome household objects. That is, of course, assuming that no-one had actually moved any of them whilst you were busily punching in a sequence of movements, or that any progression from room to room would not result in impact-related damage from table and chair legs. Or, indeed, that you were lucky enough to get the thing to move along the desired path in any case, usually a case of trial and error. Big Trak worked best when its route avoided shag pile carpet, inclines, or anywhere out of doors. According to the manual, programming distance travelled was calculated in noncommittal units of “roughly 13 inches”, whilst the angle of rotation “may not be enough to make the turn you want. Or it may be too much”. If you wanted approximate measurements, MB Electronics delivered them in spades (which themselves were probably of wildly indeterminate size).

Used in conjunction with the Big Trak Transporter (a slick grey plastic wheelbarrow for tipping and dumping stuff, yours for only another £15), there were rumours that Big Trak could even be used to ferry objects around the house (maximum load, “about one pound”)³. Promised innovations which never materialised were voice synthesis (no, really) and additional accessories (there was a mysterious un-assigned keypad button marked “IN” on the keypad for just this purpose). There was also purportedly some capacity for interactive programming using a home computer but, really, what hope did the average nine year-old have?

However, with six chunky traction tyres, sticky labels “to add exciting detail” and a camp little signature tune that played before and after every, erm, motion, Big Trak was much coveted and seldom seen - the dictionary definition of toy envy.