Our hero (that is I) returns home from a day of saving the world (although how in the name of heck a planet can get into so much peril I do not know). Clad in blue lycra, a flapping red cape (even with no wind) and underpants complete with a pair of socks stuffed down inside – and a gilet, because it can get cold at 18,000 feet, what with there being no oxygen and all.
I step in, to note that Bynx the Cat (my adversary in this world, other than Dr Evil) was having a good nose around my daughters bedroom – Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch along with MBW are nowhere to be seen. I decide to act quickly, grabbing the water pistol and heading in to deal with the cat. Spraying Bynx quickly seems to send her scuttling – and with good reason.
My x-ray vision catches sight of a hamster behind a dolls house – it had escaped from its cage. I corner Pinky Dinky Doo into the dolls house, planning on shutting the doors to keep it there when I notice the doors and windows are missing (damned squatters). I grab at the hamster, keep not to let it escape into the jaws of a cat – one minute its accomplice, helping it break free in the same vein as a murderer in Redditch, the next turning on it like a newspaper reporter hunting for a scoop. Pinky Dinky Doo, unaware of my good intentions, takes its jaws to my right hand, ripping apart the skin leaving my super hero blood dripping out. “Golly Gosh” I exclaim (!), trying to put Pinky Dinky Doo into a pocket to make him safe whilst I fly him up to the top of his cage – glancing up to the top of the 16ft structure identifies they broke open the transportation tube. Pinky Dinky Doo is not keen on this idea though, so I try to nestle Pinky Dinky Doo in my left hand.
“Oh no,” squeaks Pinky Dinky Doo in shock and gnaws at my left arm, leaving my hands crimson in a shade that matches my cape.
“Oh my word,” I exclaim. There is no time to loose – my superhero blood is toxic to any living thing on this planet. I quickly place the escapee into a laundry basket and place it into a secure hold wet room.
Just then MBW walks in. “Oh my word,” she cries. “What happened?! Oh no! I think I might faint. Phone the Police! No! Phone the Mayor! Put out the Bat Signal.”
“Hold it there, fair maiden,” I boom in deep tones that Terry Wogan dreamed of at 06:30 in the morning in his Radio 2 days. “Fear not, t’is but a scratch. I shall go to get some Super Hero Attention from a Medical type person in a moment. But first, I do not want to change the colour of our good friend Pinky Dinky Doo. Please, step in there and return him to his home.” I indicate to the strong hold. “And the Bat Signal is for Bruce next door. We need to talk later.”
“Oh, ok,” says MBW, stepping into the secure area. She picks up Pinky Dinky Doo and steps out of the green zone, nodding to the Police Officers who stood guard outside the room. (Hang on – was the Police officers a step too far? Ignore them.) He looks at her adoringly and goes with her, squeaking a thanks to her as he goes into his cage – forgetting it was I who saved him.
I fly to Super Hero A+E, get 15 super hero stitches down my left arm, a superglue in my right arm and return two superhero hours later – which is actually 2 seconds in Human time. MBW looks and admires the sutures as my arm heals before her eyes – a Super Hero Benefit. “I’d better make the tea then,” she says, skipping into the kitchen in her 1950’s dress. “Go fetch Daddies’ slippers, someone!”
“Hold on,” says I. “What about Pinky Dinky Doo? He is not safe with the villain around.”
“I’ll put a call in to the Mayor via Facebook.” She murmours. “What a good thing you were here…”
The Mayor responded quickly. “I have found a good home for Pinky Dinky Doo. A lovely lady called Sheila will be arriving tomorrow.”
“A good home? What constitutes that?” Asks MBW.
“If they don’t turn up in a van marked Sheila and Sons Furriers, it’s good enough.” I boomed. “Good work, Mayor.”
And so Pinky Dinky Doo goes off into the sunset, safe in a new secure home. Our hero’s work once again complete.