Wednesday, 5 January 2011
I Blame Children's TV
Okay, so last year I wrote this post about my first awakening to erotic romance on TV (aged 12), and how one obscure and frankly naff show seems to have influenced my writing since. And I threatened to reveal the moment of my, um, non-romantic TV/sexual awakening - the moment my hormones kicked in. Which, it must be conjectured, took place some considerable time earlier.
And here it is, in all its awfulness: H.R. Pufnstuf.
For those of you not raised on 1970s American kids programmes, H R Pufnstuf was about a little boy named Jimmy who (along with his magic talking flute - don't ask) gets kidnapped to a fantasy island ruled by a wicked witch called Witchiepoo - pictured at top there. Anyway, she wants to steal his talking flute (Am I getting a Freudian vibe off this?), but luckily Jimmy is given shelter by a kindly dragon called Pufnstuf. They have fun adventures, many as far as I remember involving talking trees and mushrooms.
Hmm. In hindsight there may be a number of drugs references. Those hippy TV types, eh? Looking at it now I wince slightly, mostly from the costumes that make Barney the Purple Dinosaur look like the height of sophisticated realism.
BUT the particular moment I remember was when Pufnstuf the harmless yellow baggy-eyed dragon gets captured by Witchiepoo and she ties him to a big spit and roasts him over a fire. Helpless.
Bang. Hormones. And a feeling like wot I had never felt before.
So there we have it folks - dragons, wicked witches, bondage and torture. It explains EVERYTHING, doesn't it? Now I'll just crawl off and hide, and you'd better go take that TV out of your kid's bedroom, because you don't know what sort of depraved filth they are watching on the Cartoon Network, or how it will corrupt them FOREVER.