Papa Smurf Pays A Visit

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk writing when I turned around and noticed Papa Smurf standing in the centre of the floor behind me. He was just as I remembered him, about an inch high, red hat, blue body.


I wasn’t overly surprised. Like any 36 year old male I am often haunted by my past.


“What are you working on?” asked Papa Smurf.


“The Penguin Variations,” I said and then I told him the story - earthquakes, tsunamis, a plot based on the mechanics of the game of Mousetrap, penguins, The Whole Earth Movement, airships, scientists, philosophers, an animal sanctuary, the American occupation of Iceland, Spud in a tutu, his mad Aunt, knives at dawn, submarines, a haunted oil rig, a one legged man, Global Warming jumpers, a faked car crash, a mountain hideout, a New Year raid on a government building, stolen architectural plans and so on.


I was really getting into it, full of myself, when Papa Smurf held up his hand and interrupted me.


“What your story lacks is a cute marketing opportunity. Have you any idea how much money the Smurfs generated in their heyday?”


I nodded my head. I did. I used to collect Smurfs.


Past the Mace shop was the garage. The garage was about as far as I would ever go as a child and even that was out of my comfort zone. On the other side of the road was White City. I knew if I went there I would be killed. After all, I had had real death threats, had been taken out of school but that’s another story.


In those days garages were garages. They didn’t have shops attached in which you could do your weekly shop, book holidays, organise funerals, move in an set up a new life if you so wished. They sold petrol and that was that.


Except, except.....


The garage was like a palace. It was white and if you went in the square building you were almost blinded by the bright lights, the highly polished floors. The interior disappeared to infinity. And in this interior was nothing.


Except, except.....


In the centre of the floor was a glass display cabinet. In this glass cabinet, lined up one by one, each with acres of their own space, were the Smurfs.


It was heartbreaking looking back, having to decide which one you wanted next, because if you were lucky you might be able to afford one. And then once you had decided you couldn’t just pluck it off a shelf you had to go and ask the garage worker.


For a shy little boy, all alone, who had walked so far from home, and faced such danger, this was torture.


“No, I don’t have any fuel. I wanted to buy a Smurf. Poet Smurf please. Do you have him?”


Surely the adoption process is not as tough as this.


But it was worth it. Because then you get to take the Smurf home. He will be your friend. You can talk to him, tell him the things that you don’t have anyone else to tell.


I told Papa Smurf all this. And then he told me about life in the village. It had gone sour for a few years, with declining merchandise revenues many Smurf businesses had closed up shop. They couldn’t compete with x-boxes, Playstations, absurdly cheap DVDs. But things had improved recently. They had had a conference, ‘What is it to be a Smurf?’ and they had re-evaluated their lives, worked out what they had stood for.


They believed in peace, friendship, living at one with nature.


“Did I know that Smurf world was carbon neutral?”


No I didn’t.


“Had I heard of the Smurf wind-farm project?”


No I hadn’t.


Papa Smurf thought it sad that I had lost touch with my inner child. He said it is possible to grow up and not lose that sense of wonder at the world.


I said I hadn’t. I pointed out the things in my book.


“Oh yes,” he said. Then he did that Smurf dance. You know the one? It is like a small aeroplane doing a loop the loop with the engines turned off. Then he was gone.
I looked for him under the sofa. In an upturned teacup. But he was really gone.
I thought it was a shame. Because who might come in his place.


Hong Kong Phooey?


NOW he was quiteaguy!

Currently reading - The Stone Gods, Jeanette Winterson


Currently listening to - Peter, Bjorn and John (still)

Unicef commercial against war featuring the Smurfs