Dolls

I have stopped watching Big Brother. This is mainly due to Seany but I also haven’t been in much and haven’t caught up and also because I got distracted by Britain’s Got Talent. It would seem that large groups of children dancing in unison makes me cry. I could sit stony faced through children singing and juggling (I wanted to smack them, but I didn’t cry). But the minute children started moving in unison I lost it.

I don’t cry very easily. The only thing guaranteed to get me going is Rolf Harris singing “Two Little Boys”, I don’t know why, perhaps I was abused to it as a child but on the whole I am not easily manipulated. Unlike my mother who once cried at Style Challenge. I do however cry through rage, which is annoying as it doesn’t really help you put a cohesive argument together, and I cry through fear. Which is understandable until you realise that I am not afraid of dogs, or wasps, or heights, or planes but I am in fact terrified of dolls. And dolls houses and if anyone’s got one lying around I am petrified of dolls caravans. Even writing this I am getting shivers up my spine and looking around convinced that a doll is going to come up and tap me on the shoulder.

I have no idea why or how this fear started. My mum has her own theories, I think it’s due to the fact that dolls are creepy and evil and have a tendancy to come to life behind your back and also down to a very weird and horrific children’s television programme called Totty. Not many people have heard of Totty but those that had the misfortune of seeing it carry an indelible scar and are always delighted to meet a fellow sufferer. Totty was made by Postgate productions the same people who made Bagpuss and Ivor the Engine. But Totty was twisted. It was about two girls who had a dolls house and the dolls inside could make things happen by wishing. There was a mother called Bridie, a dad called Mr Plantagenant, a little boy called Apple and Totty. Then an evil doll called Marchpane came to visit with the intent of causing harm. Towards the end of the series I assume they had to come up with a way of bringing this lovely story to an end. I can imagine the brainstorming session “Shall we send Marchpane away? Shall we let Totty find happiness? Nah fuck it let’s burn down the dolls house”’ And so the series ended with the dolls house burning to the ground whilst we watched the dolls melting and burning inside. As their faces didn’t move all you saw was there blank staring faces melt whilst a terrifying scream ran out. I vividly remember a nanny holding a baby that was on fire screaming through her painted on smile.

Either way it has scarred me for life. Admittedly my life as an adult isn’t affected, I just don’t go to Madame Tussauds, but as a child it was difficult. I would be invited round to peoples houses to play with these horrific effergies. If I was really unfortunate I would be asked if I wanted to play with a dismembered head that someone had stuck on a pole for young girls to plaster in make up. I believe that was called a girls world. Birthdays were a bit of a Russian roulette. You never knew which parcel from a schoolfriend would reveal an unblinking instrument of torture.

Nowadays the only time I come in to contact with dolls is when I go to see my niece. They are all hidden in advance of my visit but when I open a cupboard I am guaranteed to find one staring at me from behind a weetabix packet or from where it’s been squashed behind a sofa. Which in a way is more scary as it involves the element of surprise.

Now I must crawl in to a ball and sit under my desk as I am sure somewhere a doll has heard this and is going to come looking for me.