The Chic of Secret Science (The Supermarionation Cut)
An azure gem in South Pacific blue, A paradise concealed from public view. Where Wright’s organic lines meet high frontier, And International Rescue engineers the year.
The villa clings to raw volcanic stone, A subterranean, brutalist haven zone. With cantilevered platforms, open floors, That seamlessly erase the glass-walled doors.
Beneath the lounge where the palm trees sway, The kinetic marvels are hidden away. Where mid-century luxury, sleek and low, Masks the massive nuclear depths below.
The pool slides back with a smooth, silent grace, So Thunderbird 1 can shoot into space. The runway tilts and palm trees recline, A flawless marriage of function and line.
No neon flashes, no cluttered display, Just clean, modern lines in shades of cool grey. A tropical fortress of retro-cool pride, Where high-fashion living has rocket power inside.
To children watching from a screen of old, This secret world of science turned to gold. Beyond the cramped, suburban brick and lace, It opened up a thrilling, space-age place.
Each ordinary chair or painted wall Became a lever to a hangar hall. The mundane objects in a living room Transformed to triggers for a rocket boom.
They saw the jet-set style and raw machine Combine into the playground of their dreams. With papier-mâché and cardboard boxes made, The blueprint for a generation played.
"Five, Four, Three, Two, One!" the countdown clears, As Barry Gray’s brass anthem fills their ears. Through wires unseen, the puppets walk with pride, But it’s the massive scale that lives inside. For Meddings’ rolling skies and chemical fire Lifted a childhood’s dreams a whole lot higher. An Anderson creation, bold and bright: "Stand by for action!" in the neon night.
