TOY STORY

It was recently the 30th anniversary of the launch of "Pleasant Friends Of The Forest Epoch System Collection Animal Toy Sylvanian Families", a Japanese toy that was, luckily, renamed "Sylvanian Families". And what struck me about my favoured 80s toy was that no Sylvanian Families character would ever get mash up and wrap their car around a lamp post, or kick a pigeon, or rob a disabled pensioner for a fiver.

That's because they're the good guys. They're the antithesis to Barbie's pneumatic vanity; the antitode to Transformers' overbearing hulk. They're the ones that pay their taxes on time and enjoy the good life, which is founded on (gasp) family.

"Everyone's lovely. There are no problems," says Ben Miller-Poole, 34, who's worked at the country’s only dedicated Sylvanian Families shop for the last 11 years. "The most difficult decision you're going to have to make is what sandwich to take out of the picnic basket. The only reason there's a Sylvanian policeman is in case someone's football gets stuck up a tree."

That policeman is PC Bobby Roberts, a badger as well as an officer of the law. According to the blurb, he has "a friendly word for everyone he meets – except if they've been naughty, then he has a stern word with them and takes them back home to their mother!"

There's no scenes of moderate violence. No adrenalin-pumping concerns. No need for PC Bobby Roberts whatsoever.

Over the years, Sylvania has even expanded its biological remit to keep with the diverse times: you’ll find cats (Persian, silk and "Celebration"), mice, rabbits, otters, hedgehogs, squirrels, meerkats, Dalmatians, kangaroos, monkeys, elephants, sheep, bears, pandas (red as well as giant) and beavers. And that’s just for starters.

A standard family of four (single-species only, natch) will set you back £15.99, and then there's the bargainous Sylvanian Families Country Dentist Set (£14.99) which comes with a reclining chair, mouth rinser, toothbrush and various tools, all overseen by Dr Periwinkle, who’s almost certainly a really nice chap who inflicts no pain on anyone.

But what captivated me twenty five years ago was not their cutesy, rotund faces but the fact that they do nothing. There's no teeth-grinding noise, no multi-hued buttons, no brash, flashing lights. You move them yourselves, let them tell their own stories and all you have to play with is imagination.

It's the modern equivalent of those archaic dolls houses that litter the V&A's Museum of Childhood now, although here we're looking at a doll-size Supermarket (£39.99), Fish and Chips Van (£29.99) or Country Tree School (£34.99).

As my daughter navigates a world of Disney princesses and Barbie, I'm thankful that thirty years on, I can still teach her Sylvanian Family values.