My heart is broken.

Sorry that I haven’t written for a while. I’ll be honest, I’m not in a very good place at the moment. You see, I recently lost a very good friend. When we first moved to the Hawke’s Bay, they gave me companionship and a great deal of comfort, but now the Napier Branch of Video Easy is no more.

While most people have been watching movies or TV online for some time now, I have been faithfully been making my weekly pilgrimage to rent some DVDs. I know this is something which anyone under the age of 25ish would probably fail to comprehend, but I actually quite enjoy the process of driving 15 minutes in eager anticipation of what was going to be on the shelf, and spending between 30 minutes and an hour choosing an assortment of titles, driving home (another 15 minutes) only to find that Mrs L is too tired to watch anything, and that I really should have got out the director’s cut of some Eastern European sci-fi musical. Come to think of it, it really was a bit of a hassle.

It was probably folly to join up in the first place, I mean our relationship was doomed from the start, but in the last 6 months, my heart was stolen.

Well, it wasn’t really, but hyperbole does make things sound better. The point I’m trying to make, is that I’m a bit slow to catch on.

Here’s another example.

During the lead up to my 14th Christmas my dad was tasked with having a very difficult conversation with me, one which would mark a significant moment in my transition from boy to man. When I was a young lad, it was customary for parents to sit us down in our early teens (or sooner) to explain the facts of life to you.  One could easily be forgiven for thinking that this was the conversation which was to take place. What we were going to talk about was even more embarrassing though.  My poor father had the unenviable job of telling his teenage son that Santa Claus was not actually real.  You may be wondering if we did manage to shoehorn in a little natter about the birds and the bees, but given that, much to the delight of the bullies at my school, pubic hair was at least 12 months away for me, and any interest in carnal shenanigans of any variety was an exceedingly vague shape on the horizon, this was completely unnecessary (well spotted dad!).

As you know Mrs L. and I have 4 children. There are between 2 and 3 years between each of them which means that for the last 8 or so years we have been subjected to a large amount of children’s TV. You may have gathered that all of my children have at one point or another, been big fans of Peppa Pig. The kids have all loved the adorable antics of Peppa, George, Mummy and Daddy Pig and the other characters who make up the cast of the show. As adults Mrs L. and I have marvelled at Mrs Rabbit’s work ethic, and Grandpa Pig’s knowledge of all things DIY. We thought it was all harmless fun, and I would even describe Daddy Pig as my spirit animal.

People had told me that the Pig family were no good for me, but I knew best. They are just a harmless family, much like my own, but they all look a little bit like hairdryers. Unfortunately, and my most profuse apologies to anyone whose advice I ingnored, it turns out (and I can’t say this strongly enough), Peppa is actually a horrible little turd.

She’s the kid that everyone at school absolutely hates. She get’s the main part in the school production for no other reason than she is a precocious brat. She’s the only one at her kindergarten who gets a pen friend, because she put her hand up quickest. She constantly makes her younger brother cry, unless he can be used as some sort of currency, and then he’s her best friend.

She is bossy, irksome, and obnoxious. Everyone can see it except for her parents, and up until recently, me!

Would it kill the writers of the program to give Danny Dog a break, and let him win the egg and spoon race. No, it wouldn’t. But rather than celebrate the athletic prowess of our little canine friend, we have to congratulate Peppa, simply because she took part. So despite the fact that (just for once), Peppa is just a bit shit, we have to acknowledge that everyone is a winner. ESPECIALLY HER!

It occurs to me though that Peppa, isn’t deserving of my wrath, just my pity. She is like those clichéd kids you see in American high school dramas. You know the ones; the jock and his gorgeous girlfriend. Sure, they are living the highlife and are the top of the social hierarchy, but this is as good as it will get for them. They’ve peaked in their teens. Poor little Peppa, has reached the pinnacle of her life at the tender age of 3 or 4!

And what kind of life is she likely to have as an adult? She’ll probably end up unhappily married to some washed up has-been (my money’s on Edmund Elephant, another precocious  ”clever-clogs”), wondering why she didn’t live up to her early promise.

To be truthful though, I’m not so much angry at Peppa, but myself. Like Video Easy, I allowed her into my heart, only to have it broken. I know that I shouldn’t get so upset about these things, but there you go.

I mean, after all she is just a children’s cartoon.