Friend Of The Day: Brum

Feeling better takes time and effort - or at least, that's what some people think. Not when he's around.

When you see Brum as depicted in the '90s, he's the sort of guy you would like to air on your telly when you feel sick. His delusionally childish nature and curiosity makes him a geezer in a 3 year old's body, which makes him a good friend to have around when you're tired. His jokes, songs and stories will entertain you and make you happy in no time.

Brum Has Something To Say

"Ladies and gents and kids,

Not only was Paul Leather not the perfect director to help bring me back to kids' TV, he was the furthest thing from.

From the moment he brought me back to the box, I had to trust Anne Wood and not him. I had no choice. I needed Mrs Wood to protect me from my noisy, fast new adventures...to be my guide, to help navigate the difficult, confusing and vulnerable journey to becoming a brilliant little kid on four wheels, who makes his town a better place.

Mr Leather did none of those things. He may have done well with my friends the Teletubbies, but took a four-wheeled toddler's trust and innocence, delusional imagination and excitability and smashed it to bits in a five year mission to destroy a low stimulating, stream of conciousness format for a preschool docudrama that he killed a long time ago, through working on The Hoobs and everything.

And honestly, if my horrid 3rd season ever goes onto iPlayer, and I get into even more trouble, I honestly think that I never want to see Mr Leather's horrendous, ugly face again!

Please...have sympathy for me. You all loved me in the '90s, didn't you?"

So that has been said.

Please leave your kindest words of comfort for Ragdoll's animatronic robotic car underdog in the comments!

Social Media Sucks, Okay?

You know that pink haired lass you see jumping high into the air with her friends and especially adorable little Taromaru? It's a bit of a trick question because you may have seen her before on my blog. Her name is Yuki - a delusional schoolgirl who has fantasies of a regular school life during a zombie outbreak.

Come to think of her and her friends attempting to survive during a zombie invasion, my dilusional behaviour comes from one word you shouldn't repeat in from of your own parents at home. What's the word?

Unrealism.

The 'U word' is a horrid word in our house, besides 'Why', 'Perfectionism' and 'Publishing'. It's also one of Pibby's 'No No Words', so we refuse to use it in our house. Why? Because all while I was addicted to tech, I was seeing too many social media posts of all these people living the high life - fancy clothes, fancy cupboards, fancy beds and all the marshmallows in the all the cereal and hot cocoa you could ever want.

But just saying the U word makes me shiver and quiver and shake and quake. Why? Because reading everything I see online, in books, on TV, in film, everywhere, has caused my insides and ideas to melt like they were ice sculptures in a sauna. All these high life, successful people - enough to make me use that word to make everyone angry.

And you're going to hate me for saying this, so listen carefully:

Dreams don't come for free, guys. You have to stick to those that don't make you feel like a slave. Ambitions come from nothing. Just a black abyss of slavery, death and destruction.

*clears throat*

Oh my god, what am I saying? Anyway, don't use your dreams for ambitional, working purposes. The true key to happiness comes from the behaviour of two classic BBC preschool characters: Brum and Binka. Their delusional behaviours don't come from success at all, but rather a childish imagination.

First of all, let's talk about Brum. Most people know the third series by now, which contains so much slapstick humor and fast paced chase scenes. But the second and first series made me imagine how Brum would view the town as he ventures along looking for a new friend - if he is voiced by Joe Pasquale, I believe he'd mistake everything for something else: princesses, fairies, dragons, pirates, everything in particular, as long as he is kind to everyone and gives grounded advice, the same way everybody in town does. Even the children of the town give him grounded advice.

Then there's Binka. Unlike Brum, whose childish self is depicted as an animatronic robot remote control car which rocks about and moves its headlights from time to time, Binka is a traditional hand drawn cat who only meows and exhibits cat-like behaviour. So, I think of Binka as sort of like The Secret Life Of Pets on age regression - Binka is an analogue of a three year old who discovers the world the same way a toddler does, but his delusional behaviour doesn't rely on success. It relies on curiosity and goofy behaviour, even Tango and Suki are delusional most of the time, because Tango is colour blind so he gets his colours wrong. He thinks the kitchen taps have colds, and that there's a cat from the future in the mirror.

So, judging from what we have learnt from School Live, Brum and Binka, do remember that delusional is a good word to replace the U word. Why? Because the U word means anxiety, stress and deadlines, and you're not working in an office at all are yeh? ARE YEH?!

So the D word is way better, because using that word means your imagination is closer to home, and you can get a better understanding of your world better.

Way to go - oops, er, I mean, good lesson, young Brum me lad.

A Poem About Bedtime Talks, By Brum

When my friend was too sick to sleep,

I stayed with her all night

I thought she was about to die

So all through the night I stayed by her side

A Poem About A Good Cry, By Brum

When my friend was ill, she felt emotion

And then began to cry

I haven't felt emotion this much

Ever since I heard Kipper's mother Katie died

The Replacement

I'm afraid I have some very extremely terrifying news. Yesterday someone on Kaboose asked how old I was, and that sent me into an uncontrollable rage, lashing out at the ones I love and screaming like a banshee whose banana started peeling - and even when I got out of my quiet time, I got even angrier and started crying.

Fortunately, I've deleted Kaboose from the face of the Earth forever, and what have I replaced it with?

Mixboard. For you see, patience has its rewards - going through everything such as getting used to newer He Man and watching live action classics made by Ragdoll has given me a reward. Mixboard - the reward. So, Noddy, what have you got to say to the people out there viewing this post?

"YOU MUST NOT WORRY!"

Because all this time I have been worrying endlessly to my tummy about stories. But now, it doesn't matter. What does now? I think I know - visual image boards, Pinterest and blogging. Anything creative outside of writing. 

So kids, don't you dare go onto any forum or chat app - someone might ask you how old you are, and if they do, delete it forever and forget about it. And if I think about writing stories again, remember:

"YOU MUST NOT WORRY!"

Thanks, Noddy.

Friendly Thoughts - Furaha & Orko

Furaha and Orko know what gentleness means. To an older brother who has been in Eternia all his life, his exile to Earth gave him a new lease on life - no longer will He Man be able to bully him or throw his amulet deep into the pond, so Orko would have to spend 50 minutes to dive in and get it back.

He's got a family he can truly be with and love. He's got Furaha, his sweet little furry sister, who loves him with all her heart. In fact, the two share a deep sibling bond together - they play, run and laugh happily together and they share an even deeper bond with their carer Optimus Prime, who has given up his Autobot commanding duties to become a loving, caring father. Even after all he's been through, going deep into Unicron with Megatron by his side and panicking like Heck over merging with Unicron, these fears are over now. Through bonding with his two charges, he feels happiness and love.

Even though these three friends may feel and look different, inside they're still the same, and they live a gentle, cosy life in a ginormous cottage deep in the country, free from high stakes action. Their lives are full of softness. Without them...

WHAT WILL RAGDOLL DO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW?!?!?!?

In The Night Garden - Upsy Daisy's Horrible Singing

Ah, In The Night Garden—a twilight realm of surreal whimsy, nodding flowers, and chugging Ninky Nonks. For toddlers, it’s a gentle voyage into dreamland. For parents? Well… sometimes it's a test of patience, especially when Upsy Daisy opens her mouth to sing.

Let’s not tiptoe around it: Upsy Daisy has a horrible singing voice. There, I said it.

Every time she belts out her infamous "Upsy Daisy loves you!" refrain, it's as though the fabric of the Night Garden is being politely torn in half. Her voice is high-pitched, off-key, and delivered with such vibrato-less intensity that even the birds seem to go quiet out of self-preservation. And the Pontipines? Those tiny, stoic residents of the red house—let’s just say we’ve seen them physically flee from her performances. Mr. Pontipine has even ducked behind the hedge with a hand to his head, as if suffering from sympathetic tinnitus.

Parents watching alongside their toddlers often exchange looks. You know the one: the grimace, the suppressed chuckle, the questioning glance that seems to say, "Are we just going to let this happen?" And somehow… we do.

And yet, the narrator—sweet, soothing Derek Jacobi—insists with unwavering certainty that Upsy Daisy’s singing is “lovely.” LOVELY. As if we’ve all been invited to a lullaby recital at the Royal Albert Hall and not some sonic attack involving a daisy-headed dolly screeching into the cosmos.

So why did Ragdoll Productions let this happen?

The answer lies in their creative intent. In The Night Garden was never meant to be polished or performative. It was created by the minds behind Teletubbies, and their philosophy always leaned toward the emotional and sensory experiences of very young children, not the aesthetic preferences of adults. For a toddler just beginning to understand emotion, voice, and sound, Upsy Daisy’s singing isn’t meant to impress—it's meant to express. Her wild pitch? That’s joy. Her unapologetic loudness? That’s confidence. The fact that nobody in the Night Garden (except the Pontipines, who do quietly panic) outright stops her? That’s acceptance.

In a way, Upsy Daisy’s awful singing is a lesson in self-love. She sings with all her heart, entirely unaware of how she sounds—and the Night Garden lets her. It tells children, “Your voice is yours, and it deserves to be heard.” Even if it makes the adults wince a little.

So next time she flings her arms wide and shouts her warbling war cry of love, maybe—just maybe—we can laugh, endure it together, and admit… there’s something kind of wonderful about that dreadful, dreadful voice.

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Have you ever caught yourself humming Upsy Daisy’s “song” later in the day? Be honest.