Robots are cool and the coolest robots of all are the Daleks even though they are technically cyborgs. In fact, the only things cooler than Daleks are ninjas or maybe ninja Daleks, oh and vampires. Ok, vampire ninja Daleks are really, really cool. Thus it was not exactly unforeseen that having watched Dr Who us kids decided to build our own Dalek in the hope that we could use it to terrify the owner of the local sweet shop into handing over his entire stock of Anglo Bubbly and Sherbet Lemons.
Simons’ dad just happened to work at a local catering supplies firm and certain goods were delivered in large cardboard drums so with a bit of cajoling we managed to get him to bring one home. To this we added a bucket stolen from my dads shed along with a sink plunger, a bit of broom handle with a tennis ball attached, an egg whisk and stuck two Ski yoghurt pots painted yellow onto the bucket. After a quick tart up with a quantity of poster paints ‘borrowed’ from our class crafts cupboard we had an authentic and realistic looking Dalek…providing you could get beyond the fact it looked like a cardboard tube with a bucket and a quantity of kitchen implements stuck to it and that it had been painted by a tribe of deranged chimps with special needs. Now all we had to do was get it mobile and this tricky engineering problem was solved by tying it to a pull along cart with Simon who was the smallest of us sitting inside yelling “EXTERMIIINAAATE!” To be fair we did make some holes in it so he didn’t suffocate, well, not too much.
For a couple of hours we dragged it around the area scaring the grownups with its death dealing awesomeness and muffled “Exterminates” punctuated by “I can’t breathe.” And “I need a wee!” until we got bored and noticed that the ice cream van had arrived at the park. As in most stories from my childhood, this is where things started to go downhill, rapidly and in this case literally. As we stood debating whether cider lollies actually contained alcohol or whether we had enough money to buy a Screwball each we forgot four things. The park was on a hill, the Dalek was on wheels, the cart did not have brakes and Simon was still inside it. We became aware of this when John turned round to ask whether our killer robot of doom wanted a ‘99 and realised it was halfway down the hill going backwards. If we had known a few swear words I am sure most of them would have been used at that moment. However, being eight, John and I went “Argh!” instead and ran after it leaving the other two and the ice cream van owner watching in fascinated horror as we chased down the hill after the runaway robot that was no longer yelling “Exterminate” but was now yelling something that sounded suspiciously like “I want my mum!”
Seconds later and just before we reached it the cardboard drum and cart parted company, the latter coming to rest against a tree and the former, shedding the bits that had made it vaguely resemble a Dalek like an explosion in an ironmongers went the other way. Unable to stop it John and I watched as it rolled, with Simon still inside, across the grass and through the park keepers prize winning flower beds until it came to a jarring halt against a bench of surprised pensioners who had up to that moment been enjoying a peaceful day out in the sunshine, not expecting to be mown down by low flying seven year olds in badly painted cardboard tubes. In the distance we could see the park keeper emerging from his hut and the look that passed between us said it all…”Oh arse! We’re in trouble again!”
Looking back from the safety of thirty odd years the mayhem and devastation our homemade robot caused was most impressive but I’m sure that real Daleks didn’t get bollocked by an irate parkie and grounded for a week by their parents every time they accidentally destroyed some distant galaxy. However, we did all agree that maybe next time we decided to build a killer robot we would stick to Cybermen, they were much safer and anyway, my gran had loads of tin foil in her kitchen cupboard that we could wrap a willing victim in.
Simons’ dad just happened to work at a local catering supplies firm and certain goods were delivered in large cardboard drums so with a bit of cajoling we managed to get him to bring one home. To this we added a bucket stolen from my dads shed along with a sink plunger, a bit of broom handle with a tennis ball attached, an egg whisk and stuck two Ski yoghurt pots painted yellow onto the bucket. After a quick tart up with a quantity of poster paints ‘borrowed’ from our class crafts cupboard we had an authentic and realistic looking Dalek…providing you could get beyond the fact it looked like a cardboard tube with a bucket and a quantity of kitchen implements stuck to it and that it had been painted by a tribe of deranged chimps with special needs. Now all we had to do was get it mobile and this tricky engineering problem was solved by tying it to a pull along cart with Simon who was the smallest of us sitting inside yelling “EXTERMIIINAAATE!” To be fair we did make some holes in it so he didn’t suffocate, well, not too much.
For a couple of hours we dragged it around the area scaring the grownups with its death dealing awesomeness and muffled “Exterminates” punctuated by “I can’t breathe.” And “I need a wee!” until we got bored and noticed that the ice cream van had arrived at the park. As in most stories from my childhood, this is where things started to go downhill, rapidly and in this case literally. As we stood debating whether cider lollies actually contained alcohol or whether we had enough money to buy a Screwball each we forgot four things. The park was on a hill, the Dalek was on wheels, the cart did not have brakes and Simon was still inside it. We became aware of this when John turned round to ask whether our killer robot of doom wanted a ‘99 and realised it was halfway down the hill going backwards. If we had known a few swear words I am sure most of them would have been used at that moment. However, being eight, John and I went “Argh!” instead and ran after it leaving the other two and the ice cream van owner watching in fascinated horror as we chased down the hill after the runaway robot that was no longer yelling “Exterminate” but was now yelling something that sounded suspiciously like “I want my mum!”
Seconds later and just before we reached it the cardboard drum and cart parted company, the latter coming to rest against a tree and the former, shedding the bits that had made it vaguely resemble a Dalek like an explosion in an ironmongers went the other way. Unable to stop it John and I watched as it rolled, with Simon still inside, across the grass and through the park keepers prize winning flower beds until it came to a jarring halt against a bench of surprised pensioners who had up to that moment been enjoying a peaceful day out in the sunshine, not expecting to be mown down by low flying seven year olds in badly painted cardboard tubes. In the distance we could see the park keeper emerging from his hut and the look that passed between us said it all…”Oh arse! We’re in trouble again!”
Looking back from the safety of thirty odd years the mayhem and devastation our homemade robot caused was most impressive but I’m sure that real Daleks didn’t get bollocked by an irate parkie and grounded for a week by their parents every time they accidentally destroyed some distant galaxy. However, we did all agree that maybe next time we decided to build a killer robot we would stick to Cybermen, they were much safer and anyway, my gran had loads of tin foil in her kitchen cupboard that we could wrap a willing victim in.
No comments:
Post a Comment