In recent years BBC Worldwide has grossed over £250 million selling pre-school children's television across the globe with the explicit intention of subverting the morals of the world's toddlers by shamelessly promoting its liberal, homoerotic agenda. With the success of The Tweenies, Balamory and others it is easy to forget that this was not the Beeb's first attempt at global dominion.
In the late 1940's, in the face of Imperial decline, the BBC governor's decided to exploit the soft-power of British broadcasting excellence by commissioning ideas for children's programmes from a host of well-known cultural figures. Despite the eminence of the authors approached few of the scripts went into production: John Maynard Keynes' "Charlie, Lola and the need for monetary expansion" was felt to lack empathy for the economic dis-empowerment of four year olds, while Samuel Beckett's"Waiting for Noddy" was condemned as "meaningless clap-trap laced with unnecessary racism towards Goblins." Even world-renowned children's author Enid Blyton was not immune to disappointment with her high profile collaboration with Danish theoretical Physicist, Professor Nils Bohr, ("The Secret Seven and the Mystery of Quantum Uncertainty") considered "so lacking in plot as to be incoherent", and her joint-effort with pioneering AmericanPsychologist, Dr. Timothy Leary ("Five go mad on Mescaline") found to be "A positive menace to the morals of children everywhere."
Only three of the original twelve series were completed. Perhaps the most critically acclaimed of the three was Dylan Thomas's heart-wrenching account of Tellytubbies forced to spend 12 hours a day excavating custard for a merciless mine-owner in the ravaged Welsh industrial town of Pant-y-Hôs. Well regarded across the Atlantic, In the Night Garden was created by ex-patriot American author and feministErnest Hemingway. The series portrayed Iggle Piggle's battle against suicidal inclinations following the break-down of his relationship with Makka Pakka, initially by involving himself in the vicious war between the Wottingers and Haa-foos and later by plunging into a doomed love affair with syphiliticNurse Upsy Daisy in a filthy field hospital. But without doubt the most frequently repeated of these series across the globe was the animated series "Scoobie-Doo, pray where art thou?", the script of which was reputedly dictated to psychic medium Doris Bulschidt by the spirit of Will.i.am Shakespeare.
A man, handsome and bearded, sips deeply from the last of the Cognac,
Aware of his own genius.
The Night Garden was very fine in the Fall when the sky was clear of cloud and leaf and Iggle Piggle was young and in love. But that October Makka Pakka had left for New York. Left following the row to end them all.
The Night Garden, place of safety, now dark and bitter with loneliness. Still it is a damn fine place. There is a ticket to Sarajevo in his pocket. Iggle Piggle would miss the Garden.
He sits beneath the Tombliboo Bush one last time and drinks Scotch, contemplating crisp prose.
The Night Garden is not Paris. Here there are no waiters. Here a man fills his own glass. To the top. Without ice.
The Night Garden is not Paris. No Germans march down the Stepping Stone Path, jack-booted and magnificent. And where are the sycophants visiting from Maine, drinking on the Left Bank to tell friends of their bohemian Summer? Without them no words will come. Writing without an audience is like boasting..... without an audience. He needs to tell stories of triumph, to listen to tales of betrayal and lost love, and death delayed. He needs to visit the Ninky Nonk and to wrestle.
Two Pontipines emerge from the dark foliage. An old man and his daughter, ragged but beguiling. She keeps her eyes on the grass. Her father approaches. Iggle Piggle fixes himself a double and waits. Maybe the old man would share his history. God knew his publisher was tired of rejecting yarns of shooting Tittifers from the Daisy Patch.
Scoobie Doobie Doo, where art thou? Thou hast work to do now. Scoobie Doobie Doo, where art thou? We doth have need of aid from thee now. Hie thee, Scoobie Doo, I see thou, Pretending thou hast a sliver. Foul scorn! A ninny thou be-est for I see-est The manner in which thou shake-eth and shivr -eth.
Forsooth, we hath a mystery to solve, So Scoobie Doo gird thy loins! Earn some coins! Fair Scoobie Doo, Should thou come through, Thou may purchase thyself A Scoobie Snack, Verily, that's a fact !
Scoobie Doobie Doo, where art thou? Thou art ready and thou art willin' Fair befall thee Scoobie Doo I know we shall enslave that villein.
Eerie is the Mississippi Delta by night. Fog girdles the Earth.
Velma, a boy dressed as a maid, walks like a disciple of Lesbos. Behind her trails a fop, his whore, a coward and his cur.
Jinkies! Verily, I spy nought but fog. Let us take shelter in yonder abandoned paddle-steamer
Mayhaps we should sail her downstream, for Uncle Monty's old Gold mine can scarce be far from hither.
But soft, what light through yonder port-hole breaks? It is the deep-sea diver and luminous paint is his sun. Arise fair sun and remove thy most unconvincing rubber mask, which conceal-eth thee not. For thou art surely Sheriff Goodfellow diguised-eth.