I think it's fair to say that the Telly Tubbies and Thomas were instrumental in my boys' education. But oh Po! It looks like little kids shouldn't be plonked in front of the telly and left to their own devices. I've dumbed them down and widened their waistbands. Uh-oh ... too late.
Thomas and some of his fractious friends were instrumental in the boys' early days of educational well-being. You can hardly imagine the pride I felt when my three-year old described a crack in the lawn as a ravine. Greatness was within reach! Of course I'm not sure if he pronounced ravine in the same way Ringo did, but a crack's a crack.
Of course the boys' weren't only bombarded with characters speaking in accents unlike their own, there was also the lovely Suzy. Suzy Cato that is.
The boys loved Suzy, she was bright and entertaining, and had a Kiwi accent (I'm sure it's Kiwi although she was born in Oz ... ok ... maybe I should cover my bases and say Australasian otherwise the Pavlova thing's sure to rise). I suspect she still does have one.
Anyway, I had the good luck to bump into her occasionally at our local gym, she was charming and polite in contrast to my bumbling inquisition as we cycled to nowhere next to each other. She was amazing, I'm sure she didn't even work up a sweat.
Fast forward a couple of weeks to a supermarket trolley with Mr 3-going-on-37 white knuckling it around the over packed aisles. He didn't say much as the trolley was being laden, except for the odd suggestion which usually involved a derivative from a sugar mountain.
There at the end of one of the aisles, was a golden glow. There stood Suzy Cato. The real, live, not on the telly at the moment Suzy.
I thought at first she might high-tail it out of there when she clapped her eyes on me, but no, she came up to us. I smiled and said hello, and she was polite and genuine in her greeting. I was of course suitably starstruck.
Suzy then turned her full attention to the trolley dweller.
He eyed her suspiciously.
She then sung her "Suzy song" there in the aisle with only my son and the various cans of baked beans for an audience.
I was beside myself with excitement, Suzy Cato singing to my son! It was a lovely, genuine gesture.
Suzy completed her little set, then went on towards the pasta sauces.
Starstruck at first, I returned my attention to my son. He looked at me, his face puckered in consternation.
"That lady was like that lady on the telly."
"It was that lady on the telly," I said, wondering if those myths were true and his brain had been partially fried from the radiation emitted by the telly.
"No, she just looked like her."
Looking away his attention strolled along to some muesli bars.
