This morning we drove home from the Eldest of the Darling Daughter’s home after a great day celebrating the Son-in-Law’s Fiftieth Birthday. Well, actually, it was one of many celebrations he had enjoyed
over the last few weeks but I wasn’t counting. As far as I am concerned, where celebrations are concerned, the more the better.
Mr B, while saying that he does not believe in marking birthdays,
has nevertheless managed some pretty stellar celebrations in his time. None better than his own Fiftieth Birthday Party which has gone down in the annals of our family history as The Mr Blobby Party. Here is how it happened.
I wanted some kind of “happening” to make the party memorable but it had to be funny, rather than embarrassing. No strippers then, I hear you say? Absolutely not – why would we have
a pretend policewoman removing her clothes when we could have Mr Blobby?
Do you all know who Mr Blobby is? Or was? I am aware that some of my readers may be too
young to remember him so please see the picture above. He was a round, pink figure covered in yellow spots with a toothy grin and jiggling eyes who used to appear on a programme called Noel’s House Party in the 1990s. Mr Blobby only ever spoke one word
which was, originally enough, the word “blobby.” He would hurtle about, causing merry mayhem, chortling “Blobby, blobby, blobby!” in a strange, strangulated and intensely irritating voice. His theme song, Mr Blobby, went straight into
the charts in December 1993, even knocking Take That off the Number 1 spot and becoming that year’s Christmas Number One. You may have noticed that every Christmas, when various radio stations play past Christmas Number Ones to get us all in a festive
mood, they never, ever play Mr Blobby. There has to be a reason for that, don’t you think?
That was all a good twelve months before Mr B’s Fiftieth
Birthday but I am like an elephant, I never forget. When I saw the Mr Blobby costume in a local shop, I immediately thought that It Was Meant To Be and ordered it forthwith. All I needed then was to find someone to inhabit the suit and become Mr Blobby For
One Night Only.
There was only one person in the frame, so to speak. Regular readers of the Daily Blog know him as Uncle “Dunk’Em” Dave, father
of Team Baldwin, but in those far-off days he was the relatively new boyfriend of the Youngest Darling Daughter. While accepting that I still had a lot to learn about him (still learning, it has to be said) there were strong indications that he would
make the perfect Mr Blobby. Had he not told the sister and brother of his new girl-friend to “follow him” in the car only to lead them on a wild goose chase up to the very top of the multi-storey car park and down again? I don’t think they
were too happy with him but, to me, it simply went to demonstrate his Mr Blobby potential. The only surprising thing was that he said yes.
Well, you should have
seen it. He lurched into our living rom, in best Mr Blobby fashion, to the tune of that most irritating of all Christmas Number One Records. He hurled what looked like (but wasn’t) a beautifully decorated birthday cake into the crowds of party-goers,
eliciting a most encouraging gasp of horror from the assembled masses before grabbing hold of Mr B and forcing him into a crazy dance of the dervishes. There was a classic moment when the music stopped and Mr B thought salvation was at hand – only for
the Mr Blobby tune to start off again even louder and more irritating than before. The anguished look on Mr B's face, the eyebrows raised heavenwards in silent protest, have been captured on camera for posterity. If he ever needs reminding exactly
what shenanigans I am capable of planning, then all he needs to do is to replay the footage. His Seventieth Birthday is but a few months off, remember...
I still recall the infinitely tender look on the shining face of the Youngest of the Darling Daughters as she led her Mr “Boyfriend” Blobby into the party room. That looks a lot like love, I told myself. Nearly twenty years later, they are
married with Two Great Kids and still creating merry mayhem. You could say Mr Blobby brought them together. Though probably not.
And Mr B, I hear you asking? Dear
Reader, what do you think?
He still hasn’t forgiven me...