I do realise that children’s TV programmes are not made for adults (although sometimes I do wonder, having spent a good 20
minutes yesterday sniggering uncontrollably at the plight of Samir the Squirrel, who’s nuts had been moved against his will), so I shouldn’t be surprised that my daughter’s choice of television viewing differs from my own. But I would like to know if it’s really necessary for the peeps at Cbeebies to make shows that are so horrifically difficult to watch that I want to be sick into the TV remote, then express fake sorrow that the channel can’t be changed (away from Living TV, obv).
I am lucky in that AB can take TV or leave it, so thankfully my torture is rare, but sometimes it’s raining, she’s not interested in her toys or her crayons, she’s a bit tired and whingy and really the only answer is to stick the box on. OK fine, I’ll think, flicking through the channels. As we flick, a flash of bright colour comes on the screen, we hear wind chimes. Shit, I think, knowing what’s coming and desperately trying to carry on flicking before she notices. “Mummy!” comes an insistent voice. Crap, she’s noticed. Back we go. Back to Waybuloo, the most sickeningly cutesy thing it is possibly to watch, apart from maybe some kittens dressed up as Shirley Temple. Dancing to Christmas tunes. In a sweet shop.
I have no idea what Waybuloo is. There are some pastel coloured animal type thingies (piplings), with huge eyes and stupid names and an annoying way of talking (“Nok Tok collect apples for Yojojo. Yojojo pleased”) and some children (cheebies. Yes, that’s right, ‘cheebies’. Just typing it is making me feel nauseous, actually). The cheebies have been VERY carefully chosen by the BBC’s casting department, with an even spread of ethnicities, a token speccy and a ginger. They are all nicely dressed in Mini Boden, no Tesco Value tshirts for these kids.
First of all, the cheebies have to find the piplings. There follows an excruciating few minutes where the cheebies ‘find’ the piplings and point at them for a while. I say point at them, I mean point near them, as the piplings are computer animated and clearly added on later. So all interactions between cheebies and pilings and a good few inches out. Then they all do some yoga. Then they hang out for a bit. Then…er, actually that seems to be it. Bonzer viewing, thanks, BBC. Why can’t children just watch Come Dine With Me and Deal or No Deal, like normal people do? Pfft.
And another thing!
There are many mysteries of the universe, aren’t there? The Bermuda Triangle, Stonehenge, The Offside Rule. More pressingly, in our house, is Where The Fuck Do All The Hairslides Go? Where???
Somewhere, in my house, are at least 50 odd hairslides living it up, having turned their backs on their hair tidying responsibilities. Meanwhile, my daughter’s hair grows increasingly wild. The more it grows, so does her aversion to coming within kicking distance of a hairbrush. And even if I could pin her down to tame it, what’s the point, since all the hair accessories are off their faces in Ibiza or something.