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DG writes about my entry describing the tragic fate of Iggle Piggle in the childrens’ TV programme “In the Night Garden…”:
This is a kids program i think you read to much into it.i would suggest you find more constructive things to do with your time.”
True, but that is like saying that “The Wasteland” by TS Eliot is “just a poem”. The interesting thing about “In the Night Garden…” over other childrens’ TV shows is the various levels of meaning that are put into it.

I don’t have much choice when watching the show as I am often attending my young daughter and she loves to watch Iggle Piggle and co. So instead of just vegetating, I started to take notice of it and certain themes became apparent. Whereas the concept of “The Teletubbies” is fairly simple: there’s a group of four aliens who may or may not be on Earth, but who are monitoring the planet and learning our ways thanks to repitition and regular broadcasts from children of Earth to them via their viddy-screen stomachs. Easy. “In the Night Garden…” is more complicated than that and has more symbolism.
We already know that Iggle Piggle is living within a dream when he enters the Night Garden, or the place of dreams. We can also deduce that Iggle Piggle and co are constructs of a higher intelligence, the baby at the beginning of the show who each night falls asleep and dreams of Iggle Piggle alone on the sea. But did you realise that the constellations are the key to some of the major characters in the show?
When the camera pans up at the start of the show (and down at the end), each constellation in the sky represents a different element of the show. And if you pay close attention some of the elemnts have flashing lights on them that spell them out in the sky. For example, the Pinky Ponk. the Ninky Nonk and the bridge all have lights on them which can be taken as true physical representations in the night sky.
Whereas we would look up and see the constellation of Orion (and his belt) or Ursa Major – the Big Dipper or the Plough – we give these constellations names because they follow a rough outline of similar items on Earth. In these examples, a man or a plough. So we can assume that the characters in the TV show are named and dreamt up by Iggle Piggle as he lies in his boat and looks up into the night sky. He sees the Ninky Nonk et al – even the Tombliboos house – in the night sky as starry representations and when he falls asleep they become physical representations to him when he enters the dream world of the Night Garden.
Meanwhile, lets look at the characters themselves. What is Iggle Piggle? Is he real or does he represent one of the human baby’s soft toys come to life? This is a tricky question to answer but I am of the mind that he is in fact a toy come to life and this probably relates to some clever marketing by the creator. The toy exists outside the programme and also exists inside the show, so you have this natural exophoric relationship between character and his soft toy alter-ego. The same can be said of Upsy-Daisy – Iggle Piggle’s fictional girlfriend (because in his real world, he is alone, but in his dream world he has a girlfriend) is obviously not of the same species and features what appears to be a drawstring device near her belt. This is a similar device that you would find on a doll to pull to make them speak – so therefore Upsy-Daisy is definitely a toy come to life. They also share a common language and dialogue.
The character of Makka-Pakka represents the parental role combined and made reality. This androgenous creature is Ma-Pa rolled into one and cares for those in the garden, cleaning, washing and tidying. It is easy to think of him as a subservient role, but in the child’s world this is mother and father rolled into one, the slave to the child. And this is the behaviour that Ma(kka)-Pa(kka) has to emulate. Who else would tend the garden.
The Tombliboos represent the opposite to Makka-Pakka and these creatures are obviously meant to represent the younger child and the baby. Their strange behaviour and tendancy for complete unawareness and their reponse to constant prompts means that they haven’t yet developed to the level of Upsy-Daisy or Iggle Piggle. They are to be nurtured and cared for. Hence the constant repitition of daily chores like cleaning teeth and changing Tombliboo trousers.
The Pontipines and their neighbours, the lesser seen Wottingers, represent the formal family unit where strict discipline and rules are evident. They appear and return home to the sound of a bell and the parents are keen to keep an eye on any wandering children. Where as Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy represent randomness of behaviour, these characters are order in the chaos. They have certain predictable behaviours and often can been seen as a microcosm of our own world and the frustrations that modern life brings: for example, they always seem to be chasing the Ninky Nonk and failing to get aboard on time.
Music plays a very important part to the show with each character having a theme and a song to sing. This aids the watching child’s language development through repitition. Each theme often appears elsewhere in the show and sometimes is echoed by the Tittifer birds, who also signal the end of the show and time for the characters to return to sleep (and for Iggle Piggle to wake up in his world).
The two major characters aren’t actually living creatures but apparently sentient vehicles in the shape of the Ninky Nonk train, which appears to defy the laws of gravity and have separate travelling sections for each of the characters of the show, and the Pinky Ponk, which appears to be modelled on a zeppellin airship. Both these vehicles are adorned with lights which are meant to represent their stellar appearance in the “real” night sky as constellations.
Of course, like the Teletubbies, Iggle Piggle is the innocent abroad, the visitor to the Night Garden and the child can relate to him, discovering new things at the same time in this dream world. Unusually, at the beginning of the show he is ordered to take down his sail in order to travel to the Night Garden – the idea of stopping the boat to travel is an oxymoron, but of course he’s not travelling at all, he’s dreaming. That takes us back to the beginning.
But what of the Narrator? Is this the voice of god? This character I have the most problem with as he appears in all three worlds: the world of the real, the child at the beginning; the dream world of Iggle Piggle in his boat; and the hyper-dream world of Iggle Piggle’s Night Garden. Of course, he is just a narrative construct to move the story along, but the romantic idea of Derek Jacobi as the voice of God in the Night Garden is too tantalising to resist.
So there you are: there’s plenty of other things to spot in the programme and the more you watch and the more you question, the more things become revealed. If you have any thoughts or ideas about the show, drop me a line via the comment link.
Of course, it is only a TV show, but I’ve got ten minutes to kill and I can’t think of anything else better to write about as my life is pretty dull at the moment!
Here’s a link to my thoughts about the Tragedy of Iggle Piggle.

Diminished, but not finished

Today, we had a visit from the local Environmental Health Officer. Apparently, some snidey sod from the village made an anonymous complaint against us because we don’t have any permanent lighting in the shop (we are open during daylight hours and close when it gets dark. Any customers unwilling to come into the shop are served at the door and we’ve made plenty of signs to warn people about the darkness “danger”).
Luckily, the officer was very sympathetic and understood my plight. Nonetheless, I’ve still had to invest in a petrol generator and some halogen lighting. Hopefully, I can get this money back from the insurers (ha ha!).
You soon realise that there are plenty of nasty people about and it appears most of them inhabit the village of misery, known as Horsford.

Words of Encouragement

Sometimes, when you are your lowest ebb, when all hope seems to have faded and you wonder exactly how you can even begin to think about carrying on, a small token arrives that rekindles that fire. Firstly, an e-acquaintance sent me a donation to the Darren Lock Benevolent Fund, which reduced this big fat idiot to a blubber of tears. The cash donation will buy Verity a Xmas present. I’ve had some nice messages of support from the various e-pals I’ve met on my virtual travels and while they are comforting and go to restore your faith in humankind, they also put it all into stark relief and make you realise what an impossible position you are stuck in. But I am very grateful for their concern and warmed by their words – if only real people were as nice.
On a separate note, I received a short, but very sweet, email from Miltos from Greece who appears to be digging my tunes:
“You are fantastic, man.Thanks for the music”
It’s a pleasure. I’m in the process of rebuilding my recording rig so that it is more portable and it means that I can be creative and move everything really quickly for the next time I have to up sticks and ski-daddle off to pastures new. I am hoping to return to recording really soon and have some new things for you to enjoy.

You score 7.5

Whoopee for me.

You Are Allowed to Enjoy this at Blogged

Am I losing my mind?

A good example of the lunacy of this situation comes from the headmistress of the local school. My employee takes her little boy to the local school and was talking to her. The headmistress remarks: “Oh we would have mentioned that the newspaper shop reopened in our newsletter, but we didn’t think it was a good idea because we didn’t want to upset the children who were in the car as they go to the school.” Why would they be upset about the newpaper shop being re-opened? I still don’t get that.
Am I losing my mind?

The Silence of the Lambs…

So we are working in the darkened shop, illuminated by our lanterns, waiting in the cold for the boys to start arriving to collect their rounds. Outside a lorry passes and we hear a familiar yet unfamiliar noise. It is a guttural noise, borne out of fear and pain and suffering as if the creature was aware of its impending fate.
“What was that?” asked the Missus
“That’s cattle going off to slaughter,” I reply and we both grimace in the darkness.
Later, at our temporary accommodation, we have been wondering what this continual popping sound is. I’ve heard the noise before and it sounds like a car back-firing. Initially my mother thought there might be a firing range nearby but then the origin of the sound is made all too apparent by that familiar scream we’ve heard earlier.
The popping sound is a bolt-gun and the scream is the cattle lined up at the slaughterhouse on the horizon, waiting to be dispatched. As I am writing this, I can still hear the screams.
I feel like Iggle Piggle, but this time it is a nightmare within a nightmare…

Variations on the Truth

What is the truth? The truth should be something that is concrete, that cannot be unaltered, an eternal constant that runs through your life like the lettering in a stick of Blackpool rock. However, one soon discovers that the truth lives in many varieties. My truth might be very different to yours, right? It’s about perspective and it is about presenting the facts in a cogent, unbiased way.
With that preamble out of the way, my attention was turned today to one of the magazines aimed at the retail trade. The story of our tragedy was featured but given a slightly different slant. I am a member of a trade association and I signed up and paid my dues because when I started as a shopowner, I thought it would be the right thing to do. I thought it would help me in my industry because I was inexperienced and was willing for any pointers.
When the disaster happened, my local rep from the trade association quickly got in touch. Of course, there was much sympathy to our plight, but the neverending theme put to me by him was that we must restart our newsrounds immediately. Forget the fact that you are homeless, forget the fact that you have no livelihood, no electricity, nowhere for your 13th-month-old baby to play. Forget all your life’s possessions spread over the wreckage of your former home, moved by the builders to make room for emergency structural work. Forget the unending dealings with loss adjustors who only exist to fulfil one purpose: to wriggle and squirm out of their moral obligation to pay out on legitimate insurance claims. Forget the emotional impact the catastrophe has had on you. Forget everything that might be at the front of your mind. The only thing that is important is to restart the newsrounds.
And so my utter loathing and contempt for the newspaper industry really began. I know what journalists and the press is like. I’ve been a part of it once and knew what that particular game is about. But if you think that news journalists are the bottom of the barrel, that’s nothing compared to the wholesales, the people that make sure the newspapers get supplied to newsagents.
I quickly realised that for them cash is king and my plight was a blip in their gameplan. Got no shop? No problem you can use part of our warehouse to make up your newsrounds. Can’t drive and are required to make a 60 mile round trip to the temporary accommodation you are living in to the wholesaler and your shop? The rep from the aforementioned trade association will drive you there everyday! (Yeah, right) Of course, there are all manner of logistics when running a newsround. Having the cash to buy the papers is useful. All my cashflow died when the car struck the building. Having a working computer system on which to run your database and generate daily newsrounds is crucial. My computer was back at the powerless shop and where I was living was no bigger than a one bedroom flat housing myself, my wife, my baby, my mother and two dogs – plus various bags of possessions we’d scrambled together from the wreckage.
During the first week, I was phoned on a daily basis by the two newspaper wholesalers I deal with and my assocation rep, insisting I restart my rounds immediately. I couldn’t give them a definite answer as to what I was doing as I was about to be made homeless for the third time in the space of seven days (we moved to the in-laws first but they didn’t want us, then we went to a holiday chalet but they were closing at the end of October). So I was under a lot of pressure just to find us somewhere to live while also battling with two insurance companies who both refused to concede responsibility for paying up for temporary accommodation.
In terms of the newspaper rounds, various options were given to me. All of them were either impractical or just plain going to ruin my business. While some profess altruism, there are many out there who would steal your customer base in an instant if the opportunity came your way, so I had to play my cards close to my chest. At one point, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to re-open.
And so I read this article today where the association rep is presented as the hero of the hour, even helping find us temporary accommodation (an utter out and out lie). Not quite the truth, but a variation on it. Yes, he offered impractical help and solutions to problems that were no solution for me. The only good thing the association did for me was to give me a payment of £450 from the benevolent fund, which didn’t even cover half my monthly commercial mortgage payment. That makes me sound ungrateful, but I am not. I am grateful for any help that I can use or find practical, but one soon learns that helpful people are often serving other motives and one realises that the wheels of business will grind up the likes of me; the innocent, trusting, naive beginner like myself. I felt bullied by the people who are supposed to be supporting me. Business doesn’t work like that though…
Now I could fire off an email of complaint and whinge and moan and curse, but there’s no point. The damage was done when the car picked us out. It is obvious that the article was just a puff piece to promote the work of the trade association involved. That’s all well and good, but it hurts when its your efforts alone that’s gotten you to this point.
Re-opening was made able by myself, The Missus, my mother and my member of staff working hard to clean and rearrage the shop and coming up with practical solutions to impractical problems. At the moment, we are trying to get an interim payment from the insurers but I fear that despite our efforts, the game is up. Even if they do pay out, I don’t know if the cash sum will enable me to sustain the business. I need sustained cashflow, it is our lifeblood.
Yesterday, we served 28 customers and took about a sixteenth of the takings we would normally take. We normally average 300 customers a day. I’ve got paper boys and staff to pay. At this rate, I’ll have to borrow money just to keep them on board.
I can see no way out of this.
Meanwhile, the rumour from the village is that the cullprits were drug dealers, rehoused in the village by the local police for whatever nefarious reasons. This might explain the non-reply we’ve had from the boys in blue. The village appears to be host to 4 paedophiles and have a number of safe houses for those who are on the fringes of decent soceity. Nice, innit?

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