The ‘70s was a rather rainy time in Britain. Sure there was politics and sport going on in the 9 o’clock news, but Britain’s children didn’t care, because all throughout the ‘70s, kids were looking forward most of all to when their favourite Supermarionation series airing on TV. There was Fireball XL5, Stingray, Captain Scarlet, Joe 90 and of course, the most legendary Supermarionation series of all, Thunderbirds. Thunderbirds aired Saturday mornings on ITV in 1976 at the time, so for me, Brains, Alan and Tin Tin, who are managers at ITV at the time.
On rainy days like this, we would escape the downpour by running into the building as fast as we possibly could, quickly closing our umbrellas or holding the latest edition of The Times over our heads. We’d run to the counter, dripping wet, and the counter lady would look at us and say, “Oh dearie me, you lot are dripping wet. Let’s get you into your marvellous little clubhouse you wanted to be on.”
And that was it - it was our special room. A room which allowed Thunderbirds to be made possible on such a channel as ITV. The floors were patterned with fluffy red velvet carpet, and there was an orange, red, pink and dark blue beanbag lined up in a circle around a giant lava lamp. The walls around us were white and patterned with orange, pink and red flowers with bright yellow middles.
Just nearby was a wardrobe full of beautiful clothes - T-shirts and trousers and socks and hair accessories and knickers and pants - everything we needed when we got out of our wet, soaking work clothes.
10 MINUTES LATER….
Look at us now! We were dressed for work in black uniforms, Alan and Brains wearing bowler hats and Tin Tin wearing a beautiful blue cocktail dress, but now we’re dressed in groovy ‘70s attire. First, check out how Alan looks. His hair had been slit back, and he is wearing a comfy orange T-shirt and brown comfy jeans. The socks he wears are a beautiful shade of red. Brains has snazzier green glasses, he has a sparkling blue jumper on, his boring denim jeans have been replaced by sparkling purple trousers and he was wearing sneakers and blue socks. If you listen very closely, you can hear him making kung fu action hero noises as he poses for us all to see, only to fall over onto his bottom again as we all laugh with him. I just scoff through my laughter, “Brains!” and help him up again.
And Tin Tin looks even beautiful in her ‘70s attire. Her dripping wet cocktail dress has been exchanged for a brown jumper, and she is wearing some rubber bracelets on both wrists. Her wet trousers have been replaced with cool red sparkling ones, and she is wearing the comfiest high heels no girl had ever worn before. Her hair had been done up in a ponytail, and there are three hairclips on each side of her hair - on one side, there are two green clips and one orange clip, and on the other, there are two pink clips and one purple clip. She now has the smell of elegant rose perfume, making her attractive to Alan.
And me? Well, you should check me out. I am wearing a comfy pink T-shirt decorated in daisies, loose orange trousers, red and blue converse boots and, just like Tin Tin, I have clips in my hair - except they have glittery butterfly wings on them. I now have orange perfume on, and I smell as beautiful as an orange tree in an orchard.
Speaking of which, Uncle Orange, one member of Applejack’s family who almost took Applejack in to learn her city ways, was a teenager at the time, and came to see us and accompany us in our room. We both smelt beautifully of orange perfume, and Uncle Orange’s real name at the time was Bob Symphony Orange. He was falling for another girl at the time, a teenage filly named Amelia Harmony Orange, and no matter how many times he tried to get her, she just turned her head away and stuck her pony nose up in the air.
Bob had been depressed over not getting the girl he wanted for quite sometime, but luckily Alan, Brains, Tin Tin and I invited him into our club. Bob and Alan spent most of the time at the table, playing board games and sipping orange juice - you know, because orange juice is Bob’s favourite beverage - while Tin Tin gave me piggyback rides around the room, and Brains just relaxed on the bean bags. We were in complete harmony in this room, because we were free from the loud noises and thuds and screams that made ITV shows like Coronation Street and Emmerdale possible.
Meanwhile, over in another room, Amelia Orange was hanging out with her friends Robert and Zoonie. This was the Fireball XL5 room, and she enjoyed it here as much as she spent time in either the Stingray, Captain Scarlet and Joe 90 rooms with Marina, Destiny Angel or Joe, even before Henry from Angelina Ballerina came along in 2001. Amelia would often play tag with Zoonie, and then chill out with Robert and listen to the latest reggae pop hits. And whenever Robert emerged from the bathroom after a toilet break, oil dripped from his bottom onto the floor.
Dear Journal,
While on my way to Space City I happened to find a feather which floated down from the sky. But it wasn't an ordinary feather, it was blue and covered with jewels. I ran all the way to Space City to show Zoonie, Venus and Robert my new discovery, but then I decided that I wanted to sneak up behind all the residents and tickle them.
My first target was Venus. While she was experimenting with some space medicine, I snuck quietly up behind her and...tickle tickle tickle! Venus suddenly glowed blue and couldn't help laughing. I next went carefully up to Zoonie, who was asleep in his little bed in the corner. When I tickled him, he too turned blue as Zazu. Then I noticed Robert sitting by himself, enjoying a bit of peace and quiet. I snuck right up to him and started to tickle him. He began to laugh and laugh in his robotic ways, glowing blue as well.
Then I worked the feather's magic on Steve Zodiac, Commander Zero, Lt. Ninety and Jock Campbell until they were all laughing like maniacs. Then I took the feather to Professor Mattic for further investigation. He told me that it was a Elgactus bird feather, and the spell will be broken by midnight. By midnight, everyone had stopped laughing entirely, and had collapsed from too much laughter. Everyone was worn out, but an Elgactus bird was watching through the window, holding a feather in his wing...
There was one time—one ridiculous, awful, nearly-criminal time—when Commander Zero nearly starved poor Zoonie to death. I still think about it sometimes, how a simple day out turned into a slow-burning disaster of hunger, cold, and sheer disregard for the needs of a creature who just wanted to be treated kindly.
It all started with Venus needing a break. She had errands to run, shopping to do, peace to find. So, she asked Commander Zero if he’d mind watching Zoonie for the day. Not forever. Just a few hours. “Of course,” he said, pretending he was capable. Spoiler: he wasn’t.
Their first stop was the newsagents. Not to get Zoonie a snack—no, Zero just wanted to pick up a bottle of water. Functional. Hydration, tick. But Zoonie, being Zoonie, started to get that twitchy, whiny sound in his throat. The one that means hunger. It came over him like a wave. The kind of wave you feel in your chest, deep and growling. But instead of addressing it straight away, Zero hesitated. He thought maybe Zoonie could wait a bit longer.
Eventually, they stopped at a supermarket. Croissants. A bag full of them. Golden and flaky, the smell wafting up from the paper bag, warm from the bakery aisle. For a moment, Zoonie thought the day might turn around. One for him, one for Zero, maybe two for each? But no. At the power plant, Zoonie was handed one croissant. One. The rest were for Commander Zero’s family. Packed carefully away in the boot like state secrets. Zoonie chewed slowly, savouring it like a last meal. It wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
Later, they returned to the supermarket to get something more substantial for lunch. That’s when Zoonie began to really lose it—whining, howling, the kind of pitiful noise that draws looks from passing pensioners. You’d think Zero might have reconsidered his priorities at this point. But no. Commander Zero looked at Zoonie like he was the problem. Like hunger was a character flaw.
Then came the petrol station. It’s always the petrol station, isn’t it? Cold aisles, overpriced sandwiches, that weird metallic smell. And hunger. Zoonie threw a full tantrum this time. A wailing, stomping, full-body collapse. Zero just kept refuelling the car like Zoonie wasn’t in distress. As if tantrums were simply background noise.
When they finally arrived at the park, Zoonie was shivering. The air had gone cold, his tummy was empty, and lunch? Not even close to satisfying. Instead of the warm cocktail sausages Venus would have brought, he was handed coleslaw. Cold, wet, crunchy coleslaw in a paper cup. He spat it out instantly. And who could blame him?
By the time they got home, things only got worse. Professor Mattic—usually a calm presence—asked Zoonie to help lift some tools. No food, no rest, and now labour. Zoonie whined, staggered, and ran. It was all too much.
He ended up in Venus’ room, crawling onto her bed and bursting into loud, wet sobs. It was the kind of cry that comes from deep inside, the kind that says I wasn’t cared for. Venus came in, saw him, and just knew. She didn’t scold or ask what happened. She hugged him tight and told him the truth: “They did the wrong thing, Zoonie. They should have listened to you.” And with that, she let him curl up beside her. Warmth. Kindness. Actual care.
Here’s the thing: when you go out with a support worker you least love—the kind who’s too rigid, too distracted, or just plain indifferent—you notice every small injustice. Every hunger pang. Every cold breeze. Every bad food choice. And it builds. It builds until your body can’t hide it anymore. You throw tantrums not because you’re “difficult,” but because your basic needs were ignored.
If someone had just looked at Zoonie and said, “What do you need right now?”—this whole day could’ve gone differently.
Let it be a lesson. Bring snacks. Listen. Be gentle. Don’t be a Zero.
Zoonie the Lazoon has never been one for subtlety. Whether he’s bouncing around the Fireball XL5 crew with his chirpy “Welcome home, my heroes!” or zooming in at precisely the wrong time to throw everyone off balance, the little creature has a way of making himself known. But nothing—and I mean nothing—has quite rocked the Space City gossip orbit like the recent news that Zoonie has gotten a tattoo.
Yes, you read that right. A tattoo.
And not just any tattoo, but the name of someone he met a mere three days ago. The ink, reportedly etched in radiant Lazoonian script (a language only he and possibly Venus claim to understand), glows slightly in ultraviolet light, like some lovesick firefly trapped under his fuzzy skin.
Now, of course, this sparks a thousand questions, the first being: Who is this person? Sources close to Steve Zodiac claim Zoonie fell head over tiny heels for a charming flower seller on New Mars—an enigmatic figure with lilac fur, six fingers, and a voice like melted strawberry jam. She apparently gave Zoonie a cosmic daisy and called him “sparkle-paws” before vanishing into the violet mist. And that was enough. That was all it took. Three days later, boom—Zoonie walks into the Space City rec room with a freshly inked name glowing across his side, chirruping wildly and twirling in giddy loops.
Steve, predictably, spat out his nutrient coffee. Venus blinked twice and muttered something about hormones. Matt Mattics just said, “Well, I’ll be…”
And while Professor Matic is busy wondering if Lazoonian skin can even handle human-style ink, the rest of us are left wondering what drove Zoonie to such a bold, baffling move. Is this a genuine act of intergalactic love? A temporary obsession that’ll fade as fast as a Martian mirage? Or is it simply Zoonie being Zoonie—barreling into the world with all the impulse control of a toddler on a sugar high?
It’s not like we haven’t seen impulsive decisions in space before. There was that time Venus tried to redecorate the Fireball’s cockpit with floral curtains, or when Steve once shaved off his eyebrows during a bet with Commander Zero. But this? This is different. This is permanent. Inked. Etched. Immortalised on skin until Zoonie sheds his fur in a seasonal moult.
There’s something almost poetic about it, though. In a universe of constant motion—planets spinning, ships zooming, orders barked and dangers lurking—Zoonie paused long enough to feel. He met someone, he connected, and he did what no one else on XL5 dared to do: he committed. Even if it was absurd. Even if it was naive. He committed to that moment. To that person. To that daisy-scented flash of magic under the stars.
And honestly, isn’t that kind of beautiful?
Sure, everyone’s laughing now. Jock joked about covering it up with a tattoo of a nebula. Steve's been seen googling "Tattoo removal for Lazoons" when he thinks no one’s watching. But give it time. Maybe that flower seller meant more than any of us will ever understand. Or maybe, in a week, Zoonie will be chirping “I made a mistake!” and begging for a trip back to New Mars to talk things over.
But for now, Zoonie struts through Space City like the embodiment of pure, unfiltered devotion. A tiny fuzzball with a glowing name on his side and not a single regret in his heart.
And you know what?
Good for him.
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