THE '93 Toy Fair opened with great razzmatazz yesterday. Secretary for Economic Services Anson Chan performed the opening, and was handed a doll as a thank-you. ''Uh-oh,'' said the Jebsen executive sitting next to us. ''I hope it's not one of the dolls you mentioned in your column this morning.'' We waited agog to see if the doll would evacuate its alimentary canal on to Mrs Chan's nice neat suit. Happily it turned out to be a low-realism doll which merely played a microchip tune. Inside the fair, we were pleased to find that not all dolls emit gas when you press their tummies. A troll from Deep Source Ltd of Hongkong forecasts the future. You make a wish and press its tummy. Light-bulbs in its eyes flash green and red. The instructions say that if the green light remains on ''your wish may come true''. Not exactly sticking its neck out, is it? Presumably, even if his eyes stay red, your wish may come true anyway. The red eyes reminded us too much of the Business Post editor, so we moved on. Warning to parents of children who like pop music: the toy industry has come up with probably the most infuriating device ever designed. Many firms were showing The Rap Box, all furiously copied from each other. This looks like a personal stereo, except it has a large red or green light on one side. Turn it on, and the light starts to flash and you hear a beat go chrr-chucka-chrr-chucka-chrr-chucka-chrr-chucka etc. Touch other buttons on the machine, and more sounds join the rhythm: chrr-chucka-chrr-THUNK-THUNK-THUNK-chrr-chucka-chrr-chucka-BOOM. ''I've had this on for half an hour already,'' a proud stall-holder clutching a pulsating Rap Box told an adult passer-by. She gave him a withering look of pity and moved on. Some things only young people understand. Finnish line PERTTI Salolainen, Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Minister of Finland, was talking at the Conrad Hotel yesterday. His job is not an easy one. One host renamed him ''Mr Salo Lenin'', which sounded distinctly uncomplimentary on physical and political grounds. Then there was the time he tried to phone home from Hongkong. Salolainen: I want to call Finland. Operator: Why? Crossed wires THIS story arrived on the wires from Associated Press at 8.51 am yesterday. ''ATLANTA: Architect-developer John Portman Jr has sold a portion of his interest in Shanghai Centre, a multi-use skyscraper complex he opened in Hongkong, China in 1990.'' Hang on. Hongkong isn't in China. A new version appeared on the wires at 1.35 pm. ''ATLANTA: Architect-developer John Portman Jr has sold a portion of his interest in Shanghai Centre, a multi-use skyscraper complex he opened in Hongkong in 1990.'' Hang on. Shanghai isn't in Hongkong. A third version appeared on the wires at 2.24 pm. ''ATLANTA: Architect-developer John Portman Jr has sold a portion of his interest in Shanghai Centre, a multi-use skyscraper complex he opened in Shanghai, China in 1990.'' Where is Atlanta, anyway? Wasn't it a legendary island which sank? Faking it A SHY Hongkong Bank employee who signs his name Z.C. Iwotangi writes: ''Following your article on imaginative brand names for counterfeiters, I would like to suggest the following: More bird seed from Polly Peck. Beer from China Light (perhaps spelt China Lite). Triad services from Rentokil. Interplanetary colonisation from New World Development. Cricket gear from BAT Industries. Alarm Clocks from Time Warner. Mirrors from ICI (Groan). Undertaking services from The Body Shop. Nouvelle spam HERE'S an addition to our occasional series on unorthodox cookbooks. Remember that Monty Python sketch in which everything on the menu was spam? Well, there's a place called the Fly By Night Club in Anchorage, Alaska, with a menu which is stranger than fiction. It includes: Spam With Nachos, US$5.25; Spam With Nacho Beano Combo, US$6.25; Spam With Potato Skins and Cheese, US$5.50; Spam, Bagels and Cream Cheese, US$5 (''A taste sensation that's sweeping the nation''); and Spam du Jour (''Take a chance with today's mystery recipe. Price du jour''); Anything with Spam is half-price when ordered with any bottle of champagne. Spam is free with Dom Perignon. So, we assume, is a sick-bag.