Family / Our Hero

Return of the Two Foot Monster, aka. Channel Swimmers and Sudocrem

This episode finds our luckless hero sitting in the dining room, ploughing his way through the first forty or so National Certificate IT reports he has to mark this weekend. It’s a beautiful Sunday and his wife has just gone out, to pick up the fifteen year-old from his friends’ place after they’ve been to the beach all morning.

The three-year-old and the twelve year-old girls have just come in from the paddling pool in the back garden. The toddler has been bathed and all is peaceful as he reaches for his coffee…

“Oh No. Noooooo. Ameeeeliiiiaaaaaa!!! Mum! Mum!!!! MUM!!!!!!!” wails Abigail.

At two years of age, Abigail was used to replace the siren on the village fire engine whenever it broke down. As a twelve year-old, we hire her out to the American military to make sample recordings – for use as chemical warfare warning sirens in Iraq.

Mum is out.

“B0!!0cks!” Thinks our hero.

Nevertheless, our hero is on his feet and making his way, with a resigned and depressed air, up the stairs. He doesn’t know what the problem is, but is fairly certain it can’t be nail polish this time.

The sight which greets him does however, take even him by surprise.

The fifteen year-old’s bedroom is white. It isn’t normally. Normally it’s beige and brown, with some nice, stained wooden furniture. But now, the carpeted floor is white – and glistening. The bedside drawers are white. The wardrobe is white. The door handles are white, as are the TV remote control, a large, (previously red) drinking bottle and most of the bed linen.

Our hero moves along the corridor… there are white hand prints along the cream coloured wall. The bathroom door is open and this too is covered in white, greasy muck.

sudocrem“She’s had the Sudocrem.” Ventures Abigail nervously. Our hero turns a murderous glance on the almost-teenager.

“Good thing you were watching her Abigail. I’d hate to think what she’d have got up to if you weren’t!” Our hero would like to continue, but settles for a monumental sense of humour failure instead.

The bathroom sink is covered in the white cream, the radiator, the walls, the bath, the toilet bowl, the cistern and the seat, they too are all greasy white. As are the posh, fluffy brown towels from Debenhams (Lorraine will NOT be happy, she has a “thing” about her fluffy towels).

In the midst of the bathroom, is The Thing From The White Lagoon (close relative of The Creature from the Black Lagoon, only smaller). It stands about two foot tall and is white from head to foot (with the exception of two nervous eyes, peering out from a sea of white goo, and a quivering, pink bottom lip).

Like a sort of stunted, cross-channel swimmer, who has forgotten to take her clothes off, the two-foot tall, white monster, is covering itself in white grease.

It’s doing a bl@@dy good job of it too… both feet, both legs, bum and knickers, belly, most of it’s back, all of a green t-shirt (now white), both arms, neck, face and hair, all covered in a generous layer of the stuff.

It is surprising how far a 250g tub of Sudocrem will go when spread about 2cm thick (that’s an inch – for my mum & dad), over everything within reach of a two-foot tall, albino demon.

The front door opens.

“Lorraine!!!!! Lorraine!!!! Get up here and save your daughters!!!”

Any successful recipes for getting white grease out of beige carpet will be gratefully received.


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