Could you help me with these trucks please?
Another blogger has been reading a book about how to be a bad mother, and claims there is a section in it describing how to fit sex into a Thomas the Tank Engine video. Not, I suspect, into the actual video, children don’t need to know where trains come from, certainly none of the Train Operating Companies have any idea on that. What she means, I think, (I hope), is how to sit the little ones down in front of the box and slide behind the sofa to let off a bit of steam in the few minutes between having to wipe the next face and change the next nappy.
It’s just I don’t think I would be able to play my part, if I were to be offered the role of Bad Mother’s Inamouratum. Partly, I’m just not that good at hurried assignations. I like a bit of time to survey the landscape, sample the vineyards, amble across the plains and through the hills, stroll around the forests; actually, I might just be ready if you’ve got a moment.
But mostly, I just couldn’t concentrate with Ringo’s voice going on and on from the other side of the sofa.
“OK”, said Thomas’s driver, “we’ll just shunt these trucks into the siding in a minute or two”,
“Peep-peep”, said Thomas, “I’m ready”.
“Wait for it”, said the Fat Controller, “There’s still a red signal, you’re not allowed to go in there yet”.
But when the signal went green and Thomas started to huff and puff and shunt the trucks, he couldn’t move.
“What’s up, Thomas?” said his driver.
“I don’t know, my pistons are going as fast as they can, but nothing seems to be happening”.
His driver looked out of the cab at the rails.
“I see what the trouble is”, he said, “the track is all slippery and your wheels are just sliding around. I’ll just try some sand”.
So he pulled the lever, but still nothing happened.
“Oh no, not again”, said Thomas, “they’ve given us the wrong type of sand”.
Just then the guard came running up and said “What’s the matter with you lot today?”
“The track is too wet, we need more friction, but they’ve given us slippery sand again”, said Thomas.
“I’ve got an idea”, said the guard, and ran to fetch something from his guard’s van. He came back with a small polished urn.
“These are old Mr. Crumplehorn’s ashes. He was always a kindly soul, I’m sure he won’t mind giving us a little help now”.
And so they got the trucks all the way into the siding just before Thomas ran out of steam, and then they all went happily off to sleep without asking each other what they were thinking about.
OK, I'll drink the Hemlock.
It’s just I don’t think I would be able to play my part, if I were to be offered the role of Bad Mother’s Inamouratum. Partly, I’m just not that good at hurried assignations. I like a bit of time to survey the landscape, sample the vineyards, amble across the plains and through the hills, stroll around the forests; actually, I might just be ready if you’ve got a moment.
But mostly, I just couldn’t concentrate with Ringo’s voice going on and on from the other side of the sofa.
“OK”, said Thomas’s driver, “we’ll just shunt these trucks into the siding in a minute or two”,
“Peep-peep”, said Thomas, “I’m ready”.
“Wait for it”, said the Fat Controller, “There’s still a red signal, you’re not allowed to go in there yet”.
But when the signal went green and Thomas started to huff and puff and shunt the trucks, he couldn’t move.
“What’s up, Thomas?” said his driver.
“I don’t know, my pistons are going as fast as they can, but nothing seems to be happening”.
His driver looked out of the cab at the rails.
“I see what the trouble is”, he said, “the track is all slippery and your wheels are just sliding around. I’ll just try some sand”.
So he pulled the lever, but still nothing happened.
“Oh no, not again”, said Thomas, “they’ve given us the wrong type of sand”.
Just then the guard came running up and said “What’s the matter with you lot today?”
“The track is too wet, we need more friction, but they’ve given us slippery sand again”, said Thomas.
“I’ve got an idea”, said the guard, and ran to fetch something from his guard’s van. He came back with a small polished urn.
“These are old Mr. Crumplehorn’s ashes. He was always a kindly soul, I’m sure he won’t mind giving us a little help now”.
And so they got the trucks all the way into the siding just before Thomas ran out of steam, and then they all went happily off to sleep without asking each other what they were thinking about.
OK, I'll drink the Hemlock.
posted by Sopwith-Camel | 12:50 pm
6 Comments:
Ha ha! That is just wrong.
BTW i meant to say thanks, i like the name Tawny-feathered Huntress...that's a new one for me.
Guess who just got a brand new Thomas the Tank Engine dvd for the cubs. I was supposed to watch it tomorrow, but my eyes aren't innocent anymore.
A whole new subcontext there is...
Perhaps you can read them that Moomin story after all, then.
I promise not to start on the Magic Roundabout, I really do.
I like a bit of time to survey the landscape, sample the vineyards, amble across the plains and through the hills, stroll around the forests
And if you've gone without for 6 years? Personally, I'd be willing to try it in between Cadbury adverts, never mind a 20-minute-long Tommy Tank.
All I had to go on was a Flanders and Swann song, in which the female hippo is described as 'his inamourata', and I regarded latin class at school as a chance to get the maths homework finished.
I thought I showed restraint not dragging Percy and Duck into the act, but you're right, the way is open for a whole series of Cap'n Pugwash style episodes. New blog, I think.
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