What annoyed me most about children's television were low quality special effects. The obvious hairline of scruffy wigs. Crudely painted backdrops behind wild animals formed of chicken wire and cardboard. I know budget was an issue, but sometimes the suspension of disbelief required was preposterous. A plastic cauldron with stick on eyes is not a living being.
My least favorite technique was when they painted someone's face in a desperate attempt to transform them into a magical anthropomorphic being. For example, when they shoved someone into a hole in an MDF tree, and daubed their skin with a vague bark coloured paint. That was apparently everything required to create a tree person.
Sometimes they could not even be bothered to finish the paint job. So when the actor turned their cheeks left or right, a sliver of pink skin gave away the illusion.
How appalling. What a waste of everyone's time. I hope that whoever was responsible for such poor work got fired.
Dad said not to worry. There was no need to get quite so cross.
What a long time ago that was.
My plan had been to undertake a quick evening stroll through the woods to calm my thoughts. But the paths were misleading. Now trunks and branches surrounded me on all sides.
The crucial next step was to avoid a full panic attack. I was still at the stage where everything was technically fine. I decided to head left, and keep going. One steady direction must lead somewhere. All I needed was a river. A proper woodland path with chippings and bike route signage. The sun was still up after all.
I sighed with relief when the woodland parted into a wider space. One tree stood in the middle of the clearing, so different from all the others. The bark looked almost painted on, and the leaves were thin and uniform like samples of machine cut cloth.
A man’s face grinned from the middle. Most of his skin was an identical shade to the surrounding bark. But nothing hid the rolls of pink fat under his chin, and the watery blue eyes that rolled in a comical fashion.
‘Thank goodness,' I said. ‘I was trying to find the way out. Is there a route nearby?'
The man opened his mouth, and made sloppy movements with his lips that should have equated to words. Nothing came out.
I gave a nervous laugh, and grinned a polite grin.
'Are you doing a play? Is it a festival?'
The man moved his lips again, but once again no sound emerged. I noticed the solid wall of wood at the back of his throat.
A bird hopped into the clearing, and gave a rusty caw from a mouth full of corrugated cardboard. I realised that all of the paths had gone. The woods were no easier to escape from than a badly drawn backdrop.
Line: A plastic cauldron with stick on eyes is not a living being.
