Remember You're A Womble

Disclaimer: This entry is probably not going to make sense to anyone who wasn't a kid in Britain during the 70s and 80s.

Nevertheless, I'll try to explain.

For reasons that are dementedly complicated, I found myself awake at 6.30, texting the words "Remember You're A Womble" to my pal Lee.

To  those who grew up in the UK in the 70s and 80s, this will make sense. The Wombles were a group of small burrowing creatures who lived on Wimbledon Common in London, emerging after 'everyday folk' had gone home, to clean and tidy away all the rubbish these inconsiderate humans had left behind. The Wombles took all the stuff home, and essentially recycled it into things they needed in a series of fantastic children's books by Elizabeth Beresford.

These tales were animated in the 70s, and voiced by the legend that is Bernard Cribbins. So far, so ordinary.

Then they started releasing albums.
No really, there were blokes dressed up as furry burrowing creatures on stage, playing Womble-hits that soared up the charts. One of those songs was Remember You're A Womble. This will probably make a lot more sense if you just click here.

Well, not sense exactly, but you'll at least see what the Hell I'm wittering about.

The thing they never, ever explained was which Womble you were. See, each of the Wombles had guiding personality traits -
Orinocco was lazy and food-obsessed. He lived to eat and sleep, couldn't give a toss about his work, and, I hardly need to tell you by now, was one of my first idols.
Bungo was probably the most 'normal' of the Wombles, enthusiastic and sweet.
Wellington was more sweert still, but a little geeky - He was a trainspotter, and occasionally dreamed of being a spy.
Tomsk was an exercise nut, and not too bright.
Tobermory was the burrow's fix-it Womble, who actually made all the stuff they needed.
Great Uncle Bulgaria was the pater familias of the burrow, and Madam Cholet was its chef (this was of course before feminism had made itself properly felt in the UK).

I've always, always, always been been Orinocco. Orinocco, coupled with Bagpuss, the saggy old cloth cat who slept most of the time, and whose friends only woke up when he did, was the first character I ever saw who told me it was OK to be fat and greedy and lazy - cos he was still always adorable, and while they froned on his habits, teh other Wombles always had his back, and always loved him.

I can't impress on you how strongly I've always been Orinocco.

Today though it occurred to me - I'm gonna need another Womble.
Because I walked before work this worning, and could happily have carried on, had I not had to get back in time to do the day-job. And this evening, both the aquacising and the gymming were...
Erm...
...Fun.

I mean, actively, positively Fun, not just 'fun enough now we're here, I suppose/'

I don't think I'm Orinocco any more...

But that leaves me between Wombles. I mean, there's having fun at the gym, and there's being a Tomsk, whose most successful song ever was "Exercise Is Good For You, Laziness Is Not..."
Which, even now, makes me want to slap him. Anyone who knows me knows I'm pretty much under an injunction banning me from the owning and/or operating of power tools, so Tobermory's out. Bungo...too normal. Bulgaria's too old just yet, although there's a certain pompous similarity...

I guess, at the moment, if anywomble, I'd have to be a Wellington.

Yyyyeah, I know, you're not really getting how traumatic it is, are ya? I've switched Wombles without knowing it, dammit!

The song'll never be quite the same again...