Worryingly, I appear to have lost myself in a land of small blue folk with white, pointed hats. I am, in case you need to know, in Smurfville.
It all came about when I discovered that, Mr B being in receipt of Attendance Allowance, the government would graciously allow us free loft insulation. All I needed to do was to fill in a relatively simple on-line form. In no time at all, a kind but
efficient gent called Matt was knocking at our door, clambering into our loft and drawing floor plans on various forms. We were currently losing around 25% of our heat through our roof, he informed me with an air of supreme satisfaction at my carelessness.
He further advised that that the work would be booked in for around a month’s time - which would give me four weeks to clear the loft of more than thirty years of accumulated “toot.” No problems, then...
More than one of my friends had suggested that the workmen would be able to work around the many boxes, bin bags and rolls of carpet stored above our heads but Matt was having none of it. Everything
had to go. Just where, he wasn’t saying.
I sent out an urgent message to the family requesting assistance. I considered dangling the thought in front of
them that there might just be a Forgotten Heirloom up there in the dust which would have the experts on the Antiques Roadshow salivating but I knew they wouldn’t believe it. I’m talking about the family, not the experts - though to be honest I
can’t imagine the experts would be heading excitedly in our direction at the prospect.
When the Ever Resourceful Kay arrived yesterday morning (as
regular readers know it is she who helps me keep our house in order) she was game to investigate the nearer reaches of the loft and to bring down a few boxes for me to sort - just in the interests of getting started on what threatens to be a Mammoth Task.
Among the treasures (and toot) she rescued for me was a cardboard box containing fourteen smurfs, playthings from the 1970s when, if I remember rightly, My Foursome were big fans.
While Kay set about sorting out anything that could be recycled ( and laughing over my collection of “floppy discs”) I was totally transported into a website called BlueBuddies which carried an extensive check list of every single smurf
ever made since the very first was born (invented?) in 1958. The checklist included a name for each smurf, its date of manufacture and its rarity value. Working out what each of my fourteen little fellas was called proved a time consuming task.
There is still one little chap I haven’t managed to identify. He is wearing what looks like white pyjamas but he isn’t doctor smurf (my first thought) or ice
cream smurf (my wild guess.) I have found it pays to think broadly - the smurf whom I imagined was munching on a cheese, for example, turned out to be “biscuit smurf”. Also present and correct are normal smurf (or what passes for normal in Smurfville),
footballer smurf, brainy judge smurf, woodcutter smurf, vanity smurf (gazing at himself in a hand mirror), drummer smurf, barbell smurf, spy smurf and a few others. According to the website, in mint condition these fourteen little chaps might be worth something
- but I fear their condition might better be described as more “much loved” than “mint.”
Kay, having closed the trap door on the lift until
next week, asked me if I remembered the Smurf Song. I had to admit that this musical treat had somehow passed me by - so she searched for it on YouTube and, after a false start when she happened upon a song from a later date, found what she was looking for.
It is a catchy little number, indeed, with lots of “la, la, las” as if the lyricist has struggled to find enough words rhyming with smurf. (Surf, turf - I have
just checked it out in a word finder and discovered that there are 58 words ending in urf, the vast majority being words I have never heard of.)
realise, don’t you,” Kay complained (but kindly, because that’s the kind of person she is) “that I am going to be singing that pesky song all day now?”
That’s the trouble with Smurfville - it’s so very easy to lose yourself in the land of the little blue men...