Viz Memories

It’s Fester’s birthday on Saturday and, doing the big shop with Thunderthighs this morning I wondered aloud whether I should buy him a Viz magazine as a birthday treat.

Even behind his mask I could see his prim pursed lips.

“Do you remember the Viz video when you were little?” I asked.

“I don’t think I want to” he replied.

So I told him the story …

My first husband Phil was given a Viz video as a birthday or Christmas gift,    I can’t actually remember when or by whom.  He passed away, I got together with Fester, the boys were born, Ferretfingers soon learnt how to operate the video player and started working his way through all the videos.

One Thursday evening when he was five and Thunderthighs three I noticed he’d unearthed the Viz video.  As I was on my way out to Tyne Bridge Morris dance practice I shouted up to Fester “Ferretfingers is playing the Viz video, can you come and get it off him?”

Did he?

Did he ****!

They had obviously found it hugely amusing and played it over and over again until bath time.

A few days later Thunderthighs’ nursery teacher took me to one side and said some of the parents were complaining that their children had learnt some very bad words from him. 

Good going for a child who hardly spoke.

Forewarned being forearmed the next time I was in Ferretfingers’ school I told his class teacher about the video incident and apologised in advance.

This being a special needs school she just laughed and we both agreed him saying any words at all would be progress.

I hid the Viz video as best as I could.

Scroll on a year or two and the same class teacher approached me.

“That Viz video …”

Yes?

“Is there anything on it where someone wees on a cake?”

I think there was something like that in the Roger Mellie The Man On The Telly cartoon.  Why?

“Well we were having quiet time in maths the other day and all the children were working silently when he suddenly said ‘Oh Christ he’s pissed on the cake!’  The teaching assistants and I were crying laughing and nearly choked; we had to take turns to go into the stationery cupboard or corridor so the children couldn’t hear us giggling.”