PAINTING THE BACH by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

Something totally stupid that helps to explain why I was unable to upload 'Lodestar Lost' these last two weekends. And maybe offers some revenge for my evil doings in that story.

Author's Notes: In Thunderbirds story form, this is an explanation as to why I was unable to upload 'Lodestar Lost' over these last two weekends. I don't claim that this is any good as it was only written as a bit of fun from a throwaway comment, and has not been proofed. (It's a shame Fan fiction net doesn't have an 'R' for rubbish rating.) I'm not expecting any reviews, so please regard it not so much as a 'Mary-Sue' but as more of a case of wishful thinking.

Bach: Originally a shortened form of bachelor, a bach is a family holiday home in New Zealand (unless you live in the south of the South Island where 'baches' are known as 'cribs'). Traditionally a small shack with next to no conveniences (like electricity and telephone) and with tank water and an outside hole in the ground 'long drop' toilet, baches also have little need for things like dusting, the mowing of lawns and other regular chores. Modern, $500,000 'baches' bear little similarity to the real baches of yore and have no right to bear that name. My family is lucky enough to be the proud owner of an old time bach on an island in Auckland's Hauraki Gulf and utilise it to get away from it all. Unfortunately, despite the bach's laid back air, there comes a time when you do have to work on the building and for us the time has been over the last two weekends.

This is what happened... (I wish...)

An ear-splitting screech filled the air and I cringed. Then I applied the scraper to the wall again and subjected the relative silence to another squeal of tungsten-carbide across decade old paint.

I was not enjoying myself. Usually we would come to our bach for peace and quiet and to do absolutely nothing except read and, maybe write Thunderbird stories. But nearly two years ago our leaky roof had been replaced with new corrugated zincalum and then last year the new roof had been painted. The roof looked great! The rest of the bach...

I huffed into my mask and my sunglasses steamed up. Another scrape at a weatherboard and a ribbon of paint curled off to be caught in a cobweb. As D.C. added primer to already prepared boards, I continued on doggedly scraping to the background noise of boats on the Hauraki Gulf. Now I could hear an aeroplane. Some lucky souls were sitting back in their soft seats, being waited on by air stewards and stewardesses (or whatever it is they are called now) and sipping on drinks. Another scrape and more paint dust was blown away by the gentle breeze.

The aircraft noise was getting louder.

I looked at D.C. "Probably whatisname's son-in-law in his helicopter again," she said. Knowing that my face mask would probably muffle any verbal agreement of her statement, I just nodded.

The increasing volume of the aircraft made me think that just maybe this particular beast was bigger and more powerful than your average 'copter.

A shadow blocked out the sun.

Startled, D.C. and I turned to watch as a silver, cylindrical aeroplane, unlike any we'd seen in real life, came into land on the 'running track' and road outside our bach; its scarlet nose cone almost buried in a Pohutukawa tree. The legend 'Thunderbird 1' was printed down its side.

My mouth went dry.

A hatch opened and five blue-uniformed men jumped out. I looked at D.C. Her eyes were as wide as I was sure mine must be.

One of the men, tall, with pale blue sash, dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and dimples, strode over towards us. "Would one of you be Purupuss?" he asked.

Somewhat numbed by what I was seeing and hearing I raised my hand.

He smiled. "Good. Then we're in the right place."

"Scott Tracy!" I squeaked.

"Shh," he hissed. "That's supposed to a secret, remember!"

I'm sure my mouth must have dropped open. "It's been in the public domain for the last 42 years!"

He looked uncomfortable at the reminder. "Yeah... well, the Andersons have a lot to answer for. You can't blame us for still trying to maintain some semblance of secrecy."

"Why... Why," I stuttered. "Why are y..." I'd caught sight of HIM. Yellow sash, chestnut brown hair, brown eyes, drop dead gorgeous looks... I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Why are we here?" Gordon guessed. I managed a nod.

"We thought we'd do you a deal," Scott explained. "You promise to never kill one of us off again, and we'll paint your bach."

"You want me to what?" I tried to drag my eyes off Virgil.

"Don't let anyone die, or seem to die," John explained. "That last story you wrote..."

"Lodestar Lost," Alan interrupted.

"...Was too harrowing," John continued.

"Tell me about it," Alan interrupted again.

"I'm feeling drained and you haven't even finished uploading it yet," John finished.

"Your fans seemed to like it," I managed to point out.

Scott folded his arms in apparent anger. "Anything that has ME bawling my eyes out is simply ridiculous."

"You spent the first nine chapters bawling everyone else out," I reminded him. "It revealed your softer side." He snorted.

"Is it a deal?" Gordon asked. "You promise not to kill any of us off and we'll paint your bach."

"Well..." I considered the offer. "Can I still have one or more of you at death's door?"

"How close to death's door?" Virgil asked. It was the first time he'd spoken and I felt my heart skip another beat at the sound of that soft voice.

"Uh... Touch and go? Plenty of wailing and gnashing of teeth by everyone else? Maybe something along the line of Topsy...? I-I mean 'Blind Fury'?"

Scott and Virgil looked at each other. "She had you and me getting hypothermia and nearly drowning in that one," Scott recollected.

"That was after you lost your sight," Virgil reminded him.

"And before you lost your hearing."

"Can't you write something cheerful?" John asked.

"There was 'Brussels' Barnacle'," I said.

Scott groaned. "That was cheerful for everyone but me. I was ready to deck the guy."

"'Lost Property II: Too Good to Miss'?" I suggested.

"I was ready to deck Gordon."

"That one was fun," Gordon grinned.

"I can't be held totally responsible for it. It was 'Quiller's' basic idea; I just expanded on it." I was racking my brains. "'Baby, Baby'?"

"She's got you there, John," Virgil remarked. "That was cheerful AND cute." My toes curled up in ecstasy when I heard his voice again.

Alan frowned. "I don't remember that one."

"Don't worry, Kiddo," John patted him on the back. Alan looked confused as his brothers smiled. "You'll learn about it eventually... When the time is right..." His smile broadened. "I enjoyed that story."

I was mentally going through the sagas I'd completed, searching for those that didn't actually involve lots of drama and misery. "'Puppet on a String'?"

John lost his smile. "I didn't enjoy that one quite so much."

"'Insanity is Spreading'?" I queried.

"Now that was just plain weird," Gordon remembered.

"Well, blame 'Ms imagine' for the inspiration," I reminded him. "But it was fun to write." I giggled. "There are those really short ones that I wrote when I was first trying my hand at Thunderbird fan fiction."

"Short?" Alan barked out a laugh. "For a Purupuss story they were miniscule."

"Getting back to the original question," Scott redirected my attention away from the stories I'd written over the years. "Do you agree to not kill anyone in the family...?"

"Or Lady Penelope and Parker," Virgil interjected.

"Or Tin-Tin, or Kyrano," Alan added.

"Or Brains," inserted John.

"I always regard them as being part of your family anyway," I told the brothers.

Scott frowned and tried again to extract the promise. "Do you promise not to kill anyone who lives on Tracy Island or in the Creighton Ward manor?"

"You haven't said whether or not I can beat you guys up a bit. I've got a beauty of a story in mind that I haven't started writing yet."

Virgil frowned. "And just who were you planning on 'beating up' this time?" I gave him a big smile and he groaned. "Great... I thought you liked me the best!"

"I do. This way I can nurse you back to health!"

"She hates smoking, so perhaps you could start again, Virg." Alan suggested. "Maybe that'll put her off you for good."

"I couldn't do that; not in the 21st century, that would be stupid." Virgil glared at his brother. "Besides, she'd just give me lung cancer."

"The lack of smoking is about the only thing that the 2004 'Travesty' improved over the original TV show," I mused.

Virgil fixed Scott with a pleading look.

Scott sighed. "Hang on. The five of us have got to discuss this." The brothers moved a short way away and formed a huddle. D.C. winked at me.

Virgil was having a lot to say, but was apparently overridden by his brothers, because when the five of them came back Scott nodded. "Okay. If you promise not to kill any of us, to only maim us gently before nursing us back to full health, or whatever it is you've got planned, then we'll paint your bach for you."

I nodded. "Deal. I promise I won't kill any of you off ever again."

"Including Penny, Parker, Tin-Tin, Kyrano and Brains?" Gordon clarified.

"Including them. Guide's honour."

Virgil still wasn't looking happy so I sought to console him. "I've got another story on the boil where it's Scott that's in trouble and not you."

Virgil brightened. "Yeah?"

Scott overheard. "No!"

Gordon had also overheard and snickered. "I know the one you mean. I love it when big brother is all helpless and we're the ones who have got to look after him."

"Gordon..." Scott growled.

"Don't worry," I reassured the eldest Tracy. "I give Gordon a good thrashing in 'Topsy's' sequel."

"Aw no! I thought you'd given up on that one," Gordon complained.

"Nope. It's still there, waiting for Calliope, my muse, to start working on it again."

"At least you've finished with me for the short term," Alan stated. "It was pretty bad everyone thinking I had a screw loose in 'Lodestar Lost'."

"We did?" Gordon appeared bemused. "I hadn't noticed any difference." He received a punch on the arm from his younger brother.

John was standing slightly apart from the rest of the group. "And what about me?" he asked plaintively. "What dastardly things have you got planned for me?"

I frowned in thought. "Nothing at the moment. Calliope hasn't come up with anything." He looked more than a little relieved.

Scott clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. "Right! Let's get started. Virgil, you can work on the front. Maybe you can come up with some sensible suggestions as to what colour the windowsill should be."

"Right," Virgil agreed.

"Gordon, you can work on the door side of the building. You can have a look at the spouting while you're at it."

"Why me?" Gordon complained. "Why is that just because I spend most of my time mucking about in water people automatically assume that I'm a plumber?"

Scott ignored him. "John, you can do the back wall..."

"Yeah," Alan jeered. "With your height you won't need a ladder."

"Alan, you'll be helping me," Scott informed him. "That west wall looks a bit tricky and it's got the biggest surface area. The ground's too rough underfoot for a ladder, so I think the best thing for us to do would be for me to lower you down from Thunderbird One."

"So I do all the work while you sit back in your pilot's seat?" Alan whined.

"Would you rather Gordon took control of Thunderbird One with you dangling underneath?" Scott sounded as if he was actually considering the idea.

Gordon's enthusiastic "Yeah!" appeared to make up Alan's mind. "No, that's okay, Scott. She's your plane, you can do it." Scott gave him a look that seemed to imply that anyone else flying Thunderbird One wasn't an option anyway.

"I hope you've all got sun-block on," I said. "I hadn't planned on writing any stories where one of you guys gets melanoma."

Virgil gave me a sideways look. "And who would you inflict skin cancer on?"

I thought briefly. "Probably John. He's the fairest of you all." John stepped hurriedly into the shadows of the bach as Gordon chuckled and said something about 'Snow White'. "But then," I continued. "I don't necessarily like to do what's obvious. I could show that anyone's susceptible to the disease if they're not careful."

"How about if we told you that Brains has developed something that automatically protects us all from the sun?" John suggested.

I smiled at him. "Sounds good to me... He's not thinking of putting it on the market, is he? I don't like having to wear sun-block. It's all horrible and greasy." I ran my hand over my arm feeling the cream on my skin.

"We'll mention it to him," Scott said. "Come on, Fellas. Let's get started."

"Can we take photos?" I asked.

"NO!"

The five-part chorus was pretty emphatic.

The morning wore on. Because D.C. and I had already done a lot of the preparation work Virgil was the first to apply the 'Sweet Corn' yellow undercoat to the front of the bach. As it dried, he, me, and D.C. (I know: bad grammar, but it rhymes) were discussing the merits of the bright 'Torea Bay' blue we'd originally chosen and then discarded, compared with the lime green 'Anise' paint that he had painted along the length of the windowsill. We decided that the anise worked with the 'Sweet Corn', but wasn't bold enough for the overall look of the bach with its dark green roof. Virgil suggested that an emerald colour might work better.

I heard a wasp buzz about my head as we were talking and gave the brim of my hat a flick to scare it away. "I'll go and put the kettle on," I suggested. "You guys must be ready for a cup of coffee by now..." I turned to D.C. "Do we have any coffee?"

"There's some in Thunderbird One," Virgil offered. "We can use that."

"Are you sure?" D.C. asked. "We've got green tea with mint, or liquorice tea, or ordinary tea if you'd prefer."

He smiled. "Don't worry about us. We know you've got to bring everything over on the ferry, so we came prepared."

"Well," I said. "We can at least supply the water. Fresh, clean rainwater straight out of the tank, complete with leaf litter, dead possums and bits of insects. I'll go and boil it."

"Have you finished around there, Virg?" Gordon asked as we walked past. "Good! In that case you can give me a hand. Hold that end of the spouting while I screw the bracket back into place."

"Sure." Virgil climbed up the scaffolding and grasped the length of plastic. Water dripped out of a join.

"Friend of yours?" Gordon pointed out a large, velvety-black spider that was trying to find refuge under the weatherboards. "Or do you just employ it for guard duty? It's as big as a bear!"

Virgil had a close look. "It's the wrong colour for a bear. They are traditionally white."

Gordon gave an evil grin. "Got any spare paint?"

"Don't be mean," I scolded.

"Yes," Virgil backed me up. "Besides we haven't got any white. Yellow, blue or two shades of green, but no white."

I went inside, made sure the kettle was full and then switched on the gas. It was then that I realised that something had happened to my back. "Could someone help me please?" I called, not wanting to move. "I've been stung by a wasp."

Fortunately, considering that it was necessary for me to remove my t-shirt to get to the site of the injury, it was D.C. who came to my assistance. The wasp still had its sting embedded behind my armpit until D.C. caught it up in my t-shirt. "It's vinegar for wasps and honey for bees, isn't it?" she asked as she took a bottle of brown liquid from out of the pantry cupboard.

"Everything okay?" Virgil entered the bach and then hurriedly backed outside again when he saw my state of semi-undress.

"Yep," I yelled after him. "Not a problem! I'm not allergic!"

D.C. couldn't find any cotton wool so ripped into something else and doused it in vinegar, spilling much on the mat, before placing it over the hole in my skin left by the wasp. I spent the next hour trying to do everything left handed while holding a vinegar soaked pad on my back with my right.

The Tracys decided that it was an ideal time to have a break for lunch. They retired to Thunderbird One to raid the picnic basket their grandmother had packed for them, while we made do with cream crackers and tomato. D.C. had to cut up the tomato for me.

When I had marinated long enough I put my t-shirt on again and went back outside. Most of the bach was looking great, while John had finished the rear wall and was anchoring Alan on the western side. "How's the wasp sting?" he asked.

"Okay," I replied. "I get a twinge occasionally, but other than that it's fine. It didn't hurt as much as the time a wasp stung me on the nose."

John cringed.

I laughed. "It happened when I was still at school. In those days D.C. used to take me everywhere on the back of a two-seater motor scooter. Our cat, the original Puru, was lying in the driveway and D.C. swerved to avoid her, brushing a tree in the process. The tree had a wasps' nest in it and the wasps took exception to us disturbing their peace. So one of them pretended it was Thunderbird One and did a bombing run at me. It came in from one side, stung me on the nose, and took off in the other direction."

"Ouch!" John cringed again. "That would bring water to the eyes."

"It did... Nowadays I drive my own motor scooter," I told him. "It's the same colour as FAB1."

Alan, still suspended from Thunderbird One's undercarriage, had prepared and given the top of the awkward west wall two coats of paint and was signalling for Scott to lower the rocket plane further.

"I hope he doesn't activate the VTOL jets," I said. "We've only just painted the roof; we don't want it blistering off already."

"I'm more worried about our tree," D.C. added. "He's getting close."

Gordon chuckled. "Don't let Scott hear you say that. He'd be most put out that you don't trust his flying skills."

"Oh, I trust him all right," I exclaimed. "I only hope he remembers where he is."

"Don't just stand there, Fellas" Alan called down from his vantage point hanging above the bare, jagged scoria. "If you've finished your painting you can help me with mine."

With the four of them working at once on the troublesome west wall, it was finished in next to no time. Alan was lowered to the ground and Scott brought Thunderbird One back down to land. "I can see why you didn't bring Thunderbird Two," I commented as the rocket lane gracefully touched down. "She'd never fit on the running track."

Scott hopped out of his craft and walked over to where we were all standing, admiring their handiwork. "Looking good," he said.

"I'll say," I agreed. "We can't thank you guys enough. If we were painting alone we'd still be doing it this time next year."

"Just remember our deal," John reminded me. "No more deaths."

"I promise," I reiterated. "Just a lot of pain." I grinned at the five groans I received in reply.

Scott looked at his watch. "We've got to get going," he said. "We're still on duty and there's someone in Australia wanting to write about us fighting a bush fire. They need us to give them some inspiration."

"Thanks for all your help," D.C. said. "We really appreciate it."

The five men in their paint splattered blue uniforms climbed back into Thunderbird One. "Bye, Virgil," I called. "Don't forget you still haven't put up those curtains for me." He gave me a wave.

We stood back to keep clear of the VTOL jets blast and watched as Thunderbird One lifted up into the air and turned. Rear rockets ignited and the Thunderbird roared away, over the Hauraki Gulf, and out of sight.

So? What did I really get up to these last two weekends? Yes, we did spend them painting our bach. Yes, we did have help (but the only similarity he had to the Tracys is that he was male.). The front wall is finished except for the window trim, but we've only washed down the other walls. We've got no idea how we're going to paint the west wall.

Do you think that was adequate punishment for what I've put everyone through with 'Lodestar Lost'?

Needless to say, since the Tracy Brothers didn't help us paint the bach, I'm free to slaughter them at will. ;-) Also, because we didn't get their assistance, it'll be a long time before any of those stories mentioned see the light of day.

PS. The wasp sting is still itchy.