The Godfather: Lego Death Star

will hide
You have to build it, live with it and give it houseroom, but the generous godfather will get all the credit.

I have seven godchildren. They range in age, from 30 to, let’s say, around six. Finding out how old they are is always on my to-do list, but I know which day their birthdays fall on.  I see my god-fatherly role in several parts. One is to be there on that fateful day when all the parents go off for a picnic in the same minibus and get abducted by aliens on the way home. (In my mind, it’s always on the way home – let’s give them a nice day out first: scotch eggs, pickled onion-flavour Monster Munch, Tango: the works).

And, then there is postcard sending. Whenever I go somewhere vaguely exotic, the younger ones get a postcard. Morocco, for example, is ‘vaguely exotic’. Spain, a few miles across the Straits of Gibraltar, is not.

I’m less good at ‘days out’ since being scarred from a trip to a London panto several years ago. A month’s wages on tickets and an entire Saturday dedicated to the task, I asked the youngest, “Are you enjoying it?” “No” came back the scowlingly-confident reply. Well, I had a good time, especially as the grown ups were allowed to have a glass or two of ‘adult Ribena’ at their seats. Oh no they weren’t. Oh yes they were.


But successful godparenting hinges on gift giving. You must never forget Christmas and birthdays. We are lucky in a way that parents are not. You can give them a drum set, safe in the knowledge that you’ll never have to listen to them practice and, as collateral, when they turn out to be really good you will bask in reflected glory and get free tickets to Glastonbury.

Simply put, you give them gifts that, really, you want for yourself. Like the epic and enormous Lego Death Star.

It comes in 3,803 pieces of plastic beauty, with 25 figures. And you’ll have to go round and help little Johnny build it (after the rugby and before the pub). My! How his parents will thank you as the construction process takes over the whole house for two weeks. But you, unlike them, can bow out after an hour and leave it to Dad.

Once built, a lift runs through the centre of the structure, past a laser canon, cargo bay, blast doors, hangar, observation deck, throne room and tractor-beam generator (note: it can’t really generate tractor beams – use your imagination). Thankfully there’s a comprehensive guide, so you need no skill, only patience.  And wine. Of course, the point of the exercise is to lay the final Lego brick and declare in faux-gravelly voice: “Luke – I am your (God)father!”

Job done for another year.

Lego death star, £274.99

{All images:  © Lego}

More building blocks you won’t have to remortgage to buy:

Will Hide is a freelance features and travel writer with seven godchildren. His perfect winter Sunday would see him curled up in front of a log fire with a stack of newspapers and magazines, after the mother of all fry ups and a Bloody Mary that you could bathe in. Follow Will on Twitter @Willhide or go to his website.