Thunderbirds

Just a quickie this time. After the excellent We Need Answers on Tuesday (see several previous posts for details) I happened to catch a documentary about Gerry Anderson and Thunderbirds. Now as I child I naturally wanted to grow up to became Virgil so I could pilot Thunderbird 2 and have a head massively out of proportion with the rest of my body, needless to say, I was hooked.

As previously mentioned, Virgil was my favourite. He was the cultured brother, the artist, the musician and of course piloted the best Thunderbird, the mindbogglingly unaerodynamic Thunderbird 2. As stated in the documentary, flight would almost certainly be impossible- the wings pointed the wrong way, it couldn't generate enough thrust to launch from its tiny ramp etc. - but that didn't matter to the young me. I just marvelled at the green behemoth, not for one second considering the ludicrous physics involved.

Scott was alright, but he was no Virgil, that's for sure. Alan was fairly sweet in his relationship with Tintin and Gordon... well Gordon was pilot of Thunderbird 4. The one I feel most sorry for is John. One can imagine Jeff taking him aside one day.

"John, I want you to pilot Thunderbird 5."

"Oh cool, dad. What is it? Some kind of plane or rocket or something?"

"It's a space station, son."

"What?"

"You'll receive the distress calls from all-"

"A space station! You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Scott and Virgil would attempt to mediate calming the situation down a little. But John had none of it yelling "No, it's cool, dad. I'll just fuck off up to space then, shall I? On the off chance that something goes wrong up there... twice in the entire pissing series. Well, Scott, enjoy your fucking millionaire playboy lifestyle and your hoverbikes and your... sash." Before clattering away in the ridiculous puppet walk, to serve a life of solitude upon the space station that resembled a discarded box of Dairylea triangles (other cheese triangles are available).

Ah, nostalgia's a wonderful thing.