Web Site Story

'Never replace the real thing?' Periwig gave Big Bob a long old-fashioned look of a type that was long out of fashion. 'You might choose to ignore progress, Big Bob, what with your Old-Testament-prophet-speak and everything, but the world has shifted on a bit since the start of the twenty-first century. People don't do anything much at all any more. It's all done for them. Press a button, call it up. Instant gratification.'

Big Bob shrugged his broad and now aforementioned shoulders. 'Firstly,' said he. 'I do not engage in Old-Testament-prophet-speak. I choose to speak in this manner, because I consider it to be the mark of my individuality. You and others too, including my wife, might consider this a studied eccentricity, the hallmark of the poseur. I respect your right to do this, regretting only that this right is abused when used in my presence. If you follow my meaning. Secondly, I do understand all about this virtual tripping business. We went to school together, didn't we? I studied at my Mute Corp teaching terminal, just the same as you. I am well aware that change occurs all around me, but I am not obliged to either approve or condone it. I would like things to stay as they are. Canst thou follow me on this?'

'I can,' said Periwig. 'And I mean no offence. You are a good man, Big Bob. But good men are many times ground under in this changing world around us. And if we don't do something to bring in some more tourists to the borough, we will both soon be out of a job. Yeah, verily, thus and so and things of that nature, generally.'

Big Bob took the oily tin from the hands of Periwig and popped off its lid. 'I am all too well aware of that too, my friend,' he said, 'and have been giving the matter some thoughts of my own. Would you care that I tell you about them?'

Periwig dug his fingers into the gorgeous green Swarfega. 'You now have some oil on your tie,' said he. 'But yes, I would be glad to hear of your thoughts.'

And so Big Bob let him hear them.

'My thoughts run this-a-ways,' said Big Bob, when the two of them had seated themselves upon ancient bus-seat deckchairs in the sunlight in the entrance of the shed. 'Magical History Tours are all well and good. They're all well and very good too, in my opinion. But, as the falling numbers indicate, they may well have had their day. People crave novelty. They crave excitement

'I could drive the bus somewhat faster,' said Periwig. Til bet I could get it up on two wheels at the corner by the Half Acre.'

Big Bob shook his baldy head, upon which rested his official cap. 'That would change the running time of the tour. I am not proposing change. Anything, in fact, other than change. I am suggesting a theme park.'

'A theme park?' Periwig stiffened in his deckchair. 'Here in Brentford? Have you taken leave of your senses? How much more change could you possibly have, than turning part of Brentford into a theme park?'

'Not part,' said Big Bob. 'All.'

'All? You are clearly bereft. Sit still while I phone for an ambulance.'

'I am proposing no changes at all,' said Big Bob, whose sober countenance suggested that he spoke the words of truth. 'When was the last time something new was built in Brentford? Don't answer, I will tell you, for I looked it up. Seventy-five years ago, the Electric Alhambra Cinema on the High Street.'

'I didn't know that Brentford had a cinema.'

'It doesn't, it never caught on.'

'Hang about,' said Periwig. 'What about the flat blocks?'

'Ah,' said Big Bob.

'And the Arts Centre?'

'Ah,' said Big Bob once again.

'I find these "ahs" of yours perturbing,' said Periwig Tombs. 'You have not done quite as much research as you should have on these matters.'

Big Bob said, 'Hm,' he was down a bit there, but far from out. 'All right,' said he, 'I agree. I grew up with the flat blocks and the Arts Centre. But nothing new has been built here in the last thirty years. Listen Periwig, I love this town and you love this town. We've lived here all our lives so far. Do you remember the times we had together at school? Joy, joy happy joyful times. Apart from the occasional sad time.' Big Bob sighed his final sigh of the day.

Whenever he thought of his schooldays and the joy joy happy joy times that he'd had, he thought of Ann Green. She used to be in his class at the junior school. She hadn't been the first love of his life, or anything. She had just been another little girl. But, at the age of ten she had died, in an accident in the playground of the memorial park. Big Bob, little Bob then, had seen it happen. She had been pushing a friend on one of those long metal swingboats, of the type that happily you don't see in playgrounds any more. Someone had called out to her and she had turned her head. The swingboat swung back and hit her in the throat. And suddenly, the little girl, so full of life a moment before, was dead.

'I don't wish to hurry you along,' said Periwig. 'But we must take the bus out in ten minutes for its one and only tour of the day. If you do have anything to say, then I suggest you say it now.'

'Only this.' Big Bob gathered his thoughts and shrugged away their sadness. 'The world beyond the boundaries of Brentford changes daily. Here the changes are imperceptible. Yea then, here fore to and here to fore, we are an historical anomaly. We are, without changing a single thing, a working historical theme park.'

'Suburbia World,' cried Periwig. 'That should pull them in by the thousands.'

'Dost thou really think so?'

'No, I dost not. As ideas go, Big Bob, it's no idea at all. I can see that it might have a certain charm. At least for you, anyway. That nothing would have to be changed or added to the borough. That it would just be a theme park. And if it was cleverly advertised along those lines in the right way, to the right people, that the potential should be there. But it wouldn't work, people really do need thrills and spills nowadays. Even if they only get them through their Mute Corp terminals in their own front rooms. It was a brave attempt, but it would never work.'

'You really think not?'

'Sorry,' said Periwig.

Big Bob set free a fourth sigh of the day. 'Well if you say that it wouldn't, then I suppose it wouldn't,' he said, lifting his mighty frame from the bus-seat deckchair and stretching limbs in the sunlight. 'We've been friends since we were children. I trust you, Periwig. Thou art a good man too. But it seems a pity though, I really thought it was a good idea.'

Periwig shrugged and struggled to his feet. Looking up at Big Bob, he said, 'No harm done in mentioning it. But I wouldn't go mentioning it to anyone else. You wouldn't want them laughing at you behind your back, now would you?'

'No, I wouldn't. Thankest thou, my friend.'

'No worries,' said Periwig Tombs. 'No worries at all.'

Big Bob donned his official tour-guide jacket.

Periwig donned his official driver's jacket.

Big Bob climbed onto the lower deck of the bus and stood in the special place for the conductor to stand.

Periwig climbed into the cab and sat in the driving seat.

Big Bob made a wistful face and thought away his theme-park plans.

Periwig smiled a broad smile with his little kissy mouth. His brain raced forward, scooping up potential here and potential there. And he could see it all, Suburbia World Plc with Periwig Tombs (OBE of course) sitting in the chairman's seat of power. This was an idea just waiting to be sold. An idea with untold potential. An idea so simple, yet so grandiose, that he wondered how he hadn't ever thought of it himself. But it was now an idea firmly planted in his head and he, Periwig Tombs, would see it to fruition. There were millions to be made if this was played out rightly. And he, Periwig Tombs, would have a large share of those millions. After all, it was his idea. He had thought it up.