Porky Pies

For many years my younger brother believed that the huge grey mass of buildings that operated as one of the largest steel factories in Europe at that time, with its multi storey edifice, architectural functionality, frequent emissions of industrial scale steam and, at night, the glow of a dying celestial star was in fact where they made Shredded Wheat breakfast cereal.

The things that young children believe, really.

I was a few years older and was amazed at how this tall tale had been accepted without question. After all, why would the makers of the best breakfast cereal ever choose to be based in Scunthorpe when there were plenty of other and arguably better locations. I think this myth may have come from my parents. I later, when a parent myself, continued the tradition.

My youngest daughter was heart-broken when her favourite toy, a small ,pink fur covered pig became, in her eyes irreparably damaged by a tragic accident involving a staircase. (Fall or deliberate push is still debatable) There was no consoling the small child until, as parents only can do, a massive lie and drama was acted out.

I was charged with contacting the nearest A&E at the D&T (Dolly and Toy Hospital) by accessing a special Directory of Services for Good and Beautiful children. I am not sure, by definition if there is a complimentary volume for bad and ugly offspring.

My mock conversation with the fictitious Dolly and Toy Hospital receptionist was, according to my wife, quite a performance involving a bit of small talk, some general comments on the weather, a mutual dislike of lawyers and, this I dispute, not a little bit of flirting.

Anyway, I managed to charm my way into getting an appointment with the equally elusive chief physician for that very afternoon. My daughter and I sat on her bed with, and briefed, the listless pink pig on the pre-operation procedure but tried to keep up beat. Neither of us were  sure if the little animal was even tolerant of pigicillin.

Foolishly, and in retrospect downright asking for a legal action, as we knew not what we were doing, we bound up the middle of the pig with a crepe bandage finished with a neatly tied bow.

There were tears as I drove away but after wiping my eyes I could see the road a lot better.

My daughter waved me off, her face trusting and expectant. A few minutes later, as I left the Municipal Tip minus a pink pig, I had already planned the next stage of the deception.

The toy was a couple of years old but due to a massive overstocking following wildly optimistic estimates of potential sales the large catalogue store in town had plenty of surplus stock, still. I was pleased and relieved initially but then a bit annoyed. The economic laws of over supply and minimal demand  meant that the price had now fallen by a massive 60% from the panic fuelled purchase a couple of years before. We had fallen for the massive hype and very persuasive advertising campaign for the pink pig. We had been suckered into believing that if we had failed to purchase that product that year, our child would be forever scarred with emotional stress through the lack of toy based affirmation in parental love.

We vowed never to fall into that parental trap again.

In successive years however, we were tricked into purchasing the so-called top toys every time. At the back of the garage lies a pile of micro-scooters, Toy Story action figures, Talking Elmo's and other discarded scrap heap playthings.

My daughter demanded regular updates on the progress of the patient. She was understandably upset that she could not visit in person but as I further explained, the location had to be kept ultra-secret. I forget now why that was so.

The receptionist at the Dolly and Toy Hospital was most helpful although was becoming a bit too familiar and I had to get my wife to make the calls subsequently. Sooner than expected we got the great news that the patient was being released. I speculated to my daughter that there must have been a  shortage of hospital beds on account of a massive upsurge in brittle plastic problems with early Barbie Dolls and Action Man's horse.

I set off to collect the patient.

The "order by phone and collect in store" function worked perfectly. Following completion of the purchase I discarded the packaging for the replacement pig in the bins at the multi storey car park in town. The crepe bandage, removed at the rubbish skip at the internment of the old pig was carefully re-attached. They could have been identical twins.

As a nice touch, I attached a small, unused corn plaster to its left foot. The homecoming was marvellous to behold. Child and pink pig reunited and ecstatic. There was calm again in the cosmos.

Some years later we, as parents, did admit to our deviousness but our daughter was quite nonchalant about the whole thing. I think she had suspected this ruse all along but was appreciative of the effort we had put in on her behalf.

The new pink pig resides in the attic with successive 'Toys of the Year' and dines out regularly on the story of its miraculous recovery and the unconditional love of a small girl.

(edited from November 2011, yep, a busy day at work today......)