“BOING!” said Zebedee, “Time for bed!”

Ah, the childish joys of the Magic Roundabout. by that I mean this Magic Roundabout:

Not this abomination of town planning that the poor people of Swindon have to deal with (as if living in Swindon wasn’t bad enough):

So who amongst my extensive readership has a single clue what I’m rabbiting on about when I talk about Dylan, the pot-smoking hippy rabbit based on Bob Dylan; Ermintrude, the matronly cow; Brian, the simple-minded snail; Douglas, the shaggy dog with a taste for sugar; and Florence, the totty for the younger generation.

I’m sure there was far more of an adult under-current to the series that I was not aware of back in my innocence (or possibly not, but we like to infer a little innuendo as smutty -mined adults).

So in an attempt to ruin your memories of Douglas and co, I will leave you with this revved up version of Jasper Carrot’s Magic Roundabout parody:

“Hello children. It’s a quarter to six. Time for Magic Roundabout…”

“I wonder where Florence is?” said Dougal.

“I’m over here,” said Florence. 

“Hello, Florence,” said Dougal.

“Hello, Dougal,” said Florence.


“Hello, Florence and Dougal,” said Zebedee.

“Hello, Zebedee,” said Dougal and Florence.

“Hello, Zebedee, Florence and Dougal,” said Dylan.

“Hello, Dylan,” said Zebedee, Florence and Dougal.

“Dylan,” said Dougal.

“Yes,” said Dylan.

“I wonder if Florence is a virgin?”

“Drops ’em for sure,” said Dylan.


“That’s right enough,” said Zebedee.

“How do you know?” said Dylan. “You’re wound so tight you’ve clearly never had a woman.”


Zebedee ignored Dylan’s slur. “Half of Toytown has enjoyed her horizontal pleasures. Let’s face it, Noddy’s the biggest ram round here and he said he scored when they were in Hector’s house,” said Zebedee. “And Big Ears got his name when she pulled his face in so hard they stretched!”

“I can hear you,” said Florence. “It s not true. Noddy and I are just good friends. And Big Ears is just a gossip.”

“Rubbish”, said Dougal. “It’s all over the canteen. Everyone knows about you, you brazen hussy.”

“You lousy old flea-bag,” said Florence. “Call yourself a dog? I’ve seen better hair on a lavatory brush!”


“Now look here,” said Zebedee. “Things are getting out of hand. Let’s get back to the story-line!”

“It’s a crummy story anyway,” said Dylan stubbornly.


“No, it’s not,” said Zebedee commandingly.

“Who cares?” said Dylan dejectedly.

“Well, I like it,” said Florence, hopefully.

“Well that’s obvious!” said everybody, cockily.


“Now look,” said Zebedee, “let’s try and get it together.”

“Well, I’m not working for that fat-bat any more,” said Dougal. “I’m off to join the Flowerpot men.”

“Good riddance,” said Florence.

“Knickers!” said Dougal. “If you’ve still got any!”

“Ihat’s no way to talk to a lady,” said Dylan (knowing he’s on to a good thing).

“Some lady!” said Dougal.

“Oh, piss off,” said Dylan.

And so Dougal did, all over Florence.

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” said Florence.

“I’ll stick up for you anytime”, said Dylan, with a smile.

“Cheeky!” said Florence. She fluttered her eyelashes. “You know I’ve had a soft spot for you for a long time.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that soft spot,” said Dylan.

“Where do we go from here?”, said Florence.



And with that, we say “Time for bed” to A to Z for another year.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

What do you want to be when you finally grow up?

I suppose it’s the nature of ambition to look at the grass over the fence and yearn for something more, something different, something ELSE, that isn’t what we have. We strive our whole lives to grow our careers, to move to a bigger house, buy a better car. Our benchmarks are always upwards, always those who have more, or better, or faster, or sexier. Never downwards, to those who can only dream of attaining the station we have already reached. And then, at some point in life, we realise the material is not what matters. Success is measured in so many ways other than possessions or status. When I retire from my paid employment, it matters not what my workplace achievements were, the savings we made or the efficiencies of process we implemented. All this will be undone by the next bright young things in any case, eager to prove their worth to the next generation of MBA graduates eager to prove their worth to the corporate beast.

I truly admire those with the strength of conviction to step off the moving belt. To step away from the rat race and try to live their passion. I think back to The Good Life with everyone’s favourite girl-next-door, Felicity Kendal alongside Richard Briers, playing Tom and Barbara Good as they attempt to create the self-sufficient farming lifestyle in Surbiton, a suburban neighbourhood outside London. Okay, so this was a sit-com. Not everyone gets to share their idyll with ‘two puppies in a sack’ Felicity. She would certainly have provided a worthy distraction in the long evenings with no TV, that’s for sure!

But I digress. There are a good many real life Goods who have chosen to follow a path less trodden through this life. So many people, with the absolute conviction that they have the answer. I’m not talking about those with the get-rich-quick schemes we like to ogle on Dragon’s Den. These folk are no better than the rest on the Corporate Juggernaut. No, I’m talking about those driven by a passion to create. The writers and artists with the cojones to believe in their talent and their dreams, and with the tenacity to drive through with these beliefs through the hard times and the good. Some of these people are truly talented. Others have an average ability but they have the  tenacity (and possibly the wealthy spouse, I’m not sure) to allow them to pursue their dreams.

Emma Watson wallpaperExample 1: JK Rowling She is clearly a gifted story-teller at least for the first three books. Without her tenacity, though, we
would all have been the poorer for the lack of Harry Potter in our lives, and Ms Rowling would no doubt still be a struggling writer living in an Edinburgh garret. She did at least allow us to enjoy watching Emma Watson grow into a fine young woman 🙂

Example 2: EL James She managed to make a fortune out of a bad piece of soft-porn fan fiction. The whole 50 Shades saga is the epitome of pulp fiction (and not the ultra-cool Tarantino version). It is every housewife’s fantasy version of BDSM – all breathy spankings and not a hint of the pain a real cane strike might inflict on a naked posterior. Ask any English public school boy. Well, maybe not. I’m sure most of them are probably paying to repeat their schoolboy experiences as we speak.

“You don’t appreciate a lot of stuff in school until you get older. Little things like being spanked every day by a middle-aged woman. Stuff you pay good money for in later life.”
Elmo Phillips

But there we have it – I’m sure you can think of many more examples of people with mediocre to average talent, but with the tenacity and the balls (and no little luck) to drive through to success.

So that’s me – that’s what I want to be when I finally grow up. I want to be a writer with the cojones big enough to believe that I have something to say that the world needs to hear. I obviously need the financial wherewithal to finance this endeavour, and so I do subscribe to the weekly Redneck Pension Fund. But when all is said and done, if I can get my words published, and say I am a real writer, I will be a happy man as I move closer to the bright light, it is to be happy in my creativity.

If that means I need to write a BDSM fan-fiction, so be it. The research phase should be fun if nothing else, and that rope-tying course I did in Scouts could come in useful.