I was walking with Norman this week and saw this:
An old fridge had been dumped into a pond. You could call it a pond, or you could call it a dark and lonely water. I had a uneasy, deja-vue feeling, as if I’d seen this place before back in the mists of time.
There was a branch just in front of the rusty fridge, that looked rotten, and I felt compelled to grab it and lean over a long way and poke the water with a stick for no reason.
Then a creepy voice could be heard from the shadows.
Then I ran off screaming like a 5 year old.
If you haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, I should apologize, but I’m not going to because you’re lucky, you didn’t grow up in the 70s, which means you never saw this public information film that terrified 5 year old me.
(Click on the image if you’re brave enough to watch it)
I enjoyed my childhood despite these terrifying public information films. But they worked, because I no longer play on train tracks or throw frisbees into 33000v electrical substations, I rarely burn down my house by playing with matches, I definitely avoid weird blokes with puppies in parks and never open my door to this guy.
Queue a happy upbeat tune:
‘Is it your rich Aunt Annie that you’d love to see, outside your front door
Or your loving husband who has lost his key, outside your front door’’
Stop the music, no, it’s a mad axe man running around outside trying to hack your husband and Auntie to bits. That happened a lot in the 70s.
Happy times.