CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL CO-CONSPIRATOR - IN LITTERBUGGING...

A copy of the finished artwork

I readily confess - it was me. I'm the one you're looking for. How can
I deny it? After all, I put my name to it.

I sit here, consumed by guilt in my participation in the worst ever spate
of litterbugging that Scotland has ever seen. "How can this be?" I hear
you ask, and, not wanting to disappoint your eager expectations, I am
only too willing to tell you.

In a previous post, I alluded to a company for which I occasionally did
a bit of advertising work. Amongst the diverse businesses that this
company owned were various food outlets, including that great Scottish
stalwart and home of the deep-fried MARS BAR - the humble chippie.

A copy of the original 'rough

No, nothing to do with building sites; I of course refer to the traditional fish
and chip shop, that bastion of British (well, at least Scottish) civilization as
we know it. (And I'm well-aware that there are some amongst you who will
gleefully claim that the words 'Scottish' and 'civilization' do not belong
together in the same sentence. Youse are claimed!) 

Here's how it happened. This particular fish and chip shop needed a
cartoon illustration for their bags. I provided said illustration. (The 'rough'
and the finished article can be seen on this very page.) However, the
company which owned the shop also had other food outlets in various
parts of Scotland. Whenever any of those other outlets were short of bags,
they were supplied from any excess stock of bags which I had designed.
(This, of course, would sometimes happen in reverse.)

Add to that the fact that one of these shops was right next to a bus
terminal to which hordes of hungry travellers called in for fish suppers
and the like on their way home, and you can well understand the reasons
as to how this humble little bag managed to get around.  

The finished, printed result

This resulted in the situation that, no matter where I happened to be, at
some stage I was likely to see a bag with my name on it drifting down a
high street or across a field, or stuck in a hedge somewhere - not only in
the remotest areas of my own home town, but also in Hamilton, Rutherglen,
Glasgow - and even as far afield as Edinburgh for goodness' sake! That
bloody bag got everywhere - I'm sure it was haunting me. I never dropped
a bag myself, but I somehow felt responsible.

Anyway, I feel better now. Whoever it was who said that confession was
good for the soul was right, bless 'em. Hopefully, I'll now be able to sleep
at nights, and face myself in the mirror with an untroubled conscience.
Only time will tell.

Right now, however, I'm off down the chippie for a fish supper and a
deep-fried Mars Bar. Braw!

TWO WHATS ARE BETTER THAN ONE?

What was a fella to do? I had forgotten her birthday and the shops were closed. What could a woman want by way of a belated card for her neglected birthday celebrations? And then it came to me! "A picture of myself of course."

So I set to work. I quarter-folded a blank piece of A4 paper and then did a quick pen and acrylic ink coloured drawing of myself (as I then looked, with beard and short hair), added a humorous message and popped it in the post. (That's a black and white photocopy of the original colour illustration above.)

They say it's the thought that counts; well, I thought about enclosing a tenner with it - but then I thought better of it. Two thoughts are better than one, right?

Women! Never happy, are they?

WEE AL IS GONNA MAKE-A YOU AN OFFER YOU NO CANNA UNNERSTAND...

 

Front cover

Back when I had a full-time career working in comics, I occasionally found
time to involve myself in outside projects. One such was for a company run
by two local entrepreneurs (brothers), who at that time had a vast 'empire'
of diverse business operations in various towns and cities across Scotland;
shops, restaurants, cafes, ice rinks, fast food outlets, etc., etc.

In an attempt to promote one of their restaurants, they asked me if I'd
come up with something to highlight the family appeal of their establish-
ment. They wanted to emphasize that the restaurant was not just for adults
to come to on a night out, but also a place to bring the kids during the day
and on special, fun occasions.

Centrespread

Borrowing a leaf from McDONALDS (although this place wasn't a burger
bar by any means - it was a proper, fancy, Italian restaurant), I created a
mascot and came up with a little activity 'booklet' to occupy the kids once
they were in the door and to make them want to come back again. (The
idea was that I'd update it every so often.)

Here's the first and only one ever produced. (Which was a shame,
as the money was good.) It was done in a hurry, hence my inclusion of
a couple of cartoons I'd produced for some camping posters back in the
late '70s, early '80s, in order to save time. The kids loved it, apparently,
but unfortunately the management failed to persuade enough people
that it wasn't the high-class, expensive restaurant it really was.

Back cover

The moral of the story? If you want to capture the McDonalds kiddie-
contingent, then you have to provide more than bits of paper for them to
colour in; you need to compete at the same price level (or lower) as well.

The same thing also applies to comics. One of the reasons for falling

circulation nowadays is that they're just far too expensive in relation to

everything else. Publishers take note.

"I YAM WHAT I YAM!"

When I was at secondary school, my main claim to fame was

drawing POPEYE. My classmates were always pleading with me

in earnest tones, "Draw Popeye, Robson, draw Popeye!" They were

entranced by the sailor's image coming to life on the page (in the back

of a school jotter usually) with only a few deft scribbles. The celebrity

status accorded me, the adulation bestowed upon my exalted self, the

adoring awe in which I was held - it was almost intoxicating as I

strode heroically through the school corridors.

"Look!", cried lesser pupils as I passed, prostrating themselves in

obeisance, "Tis the Mighty Robson, he who is to be regarded as unto

a god by we lowly mortals! All hail the Mighty Robson!" Even teachers

aligned themselves with the 'Cult of The Robson' as it came to be known;

I often used to hear them refer to me (in hushed voices and from a

respectful distance naturally) as "a bit of a cult!"

Well, okay...I might, perhaps, have indulged in the slightest bit

of hyberbole halfway through that little reminiscence, but only a tad.

The reality was pretty close to how I remember it. (Harruummmph.)

Anyway, I've continued to draw Popeye from time to time over
the years, and above is a picture I whipped up for someone-or-other
back in the '90s. DUNN KWIK is one of the many pseudonyms I use
on occasion, the afore- mentioned being reserved for stuff produced
in a bit of a hurry. Still - not too shabby, is it?   

ONE TITANIC TIN-POT TYRANT AND ONE MIGHTY MAN OF MARVELOUS METAL...

While I rack my brains in pursuit of anything remotely interesting to
write about, here's an old standby. My own version of the cover of THE
INVINCIBLE IRON MAN #150, which I may even get around to inking
one day. (Or, then again, maybe not.)

Not traced, not projected, not graphed; merely drawn using the printed
comic as a model - just like real artists do, drawing from observation and
study of something in front of them. The original was too big to scan, so
the above pic is actually a photo of the original art.

Incidentally, the original cover was drawn by JOHN ROMITA JR. &
BOB LAYTON.

A PRACTICALLY PERFECT PURPLE PICTURE FOR YOUR PERUSAL...

Look at the above photo. Hard as it may be to believe, this is what
resulted from doing a bit of computer repair work on the magazine pin-
up below. One of my friends is a huge DEEP PURPLE fan and this picture
used to adorn his bedroom wall back when he was a teenager. (Whatever
takes your fancy I suppose - I had pictures of Page 3 girls on mine.)

Rediscovering this reminder of his youth, he was disappointed to see
that it had succumbed to the ravages of time and asked me if I could do
anything with it - so I did. The framed result now hangs on his livingroom
wall for all his visitors to see.

Isn't technology wonderful?

KARLOFF THE UNCANNY...

Boris Karloff in real life

WILLIAM HENRY PRATT - or BORIS KARLOFF as we know him better -
appears to be a vastly under-rated actor nowadays, despite all the fame
and acclaim once rightly bestowed on him for his penetrating portrayals
of THE FRANKENSTEIN MONSTER and IMHOTEP (or ARDETH BEY),
to name just a couple of his more celebrated roles.

Art by Kid Robson

Quiet, soft-spoken, and with a hint of a lisp, he was the quintessential
English gentleman, who never lost his love for the game of cricket, even in
far-off Hollywood, thousands of miles away from his native land. There has
probably never been another actor whose personality was so diametrically
opposed to his on-screen personna as that of dear old Bill. A big, super-
stitious softie in real life; often a snarling, vicious, psychopathic killer in
the movies. Apparently, just like GEORGE CLOONEY, he also had a pet
pig at one time, which he used to rush home to see after filming.
(Wonder if he liked bacon?)  

Test makeup not used in the film

Born on November 23rd, 1887 (the same month that the Baron's creature
first opened his yellow, watery eyes), he died on February 2nd, 1969 at his
home in Bramshott, Hampshire. Star of stage, screen, TV, and spoken-
word recordings, he had a long and varied career after first finding fame
in the 1931 classic, Frankenstein. However, forget the Monster and the
Mummy...Karloff gave entrancing performances in many films over the
years, whether horror-themed or not. Next time you see a Karloff movie
in the TV listings, give it a look-see - it'll be well worth your while.

Here's to KARLOFF...THE UNCANNY!

WHAT'S IN A NAME? ARE YOU KIDDING? A LIKELY STORY...

"Why are you called 'Kid'? Is it because you act like one?"

If I had a pound for every time I've been asked that, I'd have -
well, I'd have a pound actually, so I don't suppose there's really much
interest in the topic. However, I have to fill this blog with something,
so - assuming you'll bear with me in yet another act of shameless self-
indulgence - I shall address the issue in the forlorn hope that any-
body even remotely cares.

There was a period during my teenage years when I
called everyone 'kid'. It was short, snappy, and it meant never having
to worry about remembering people's names. One day, I ran into a pal of
mine in the company of a group of his friends. Anticipating my familiar,
well-worn greeting, he thought he'd get in first in a daring act of mockery
at my little peccadillo. (Feel free to supply your own amusing rejoinder
to that last sentence.) "Hi Kid!", he said with a cheeky grin upon his
smug countenance, immensely satisfied with himself for - in his
mind - 'beating me to the punch'.

His mates were unaware of
his intended 'irony' however,
and merely assumed it to be
my nickname. But ours is a
drama  decreed by the fates
to be acted out... (always
loved that line by LARRY
LIEBER); I subsequently
became friendly with that
little group, who - in their
innocence - always referred
to me by that appellation.
And so the name stuck and
I've been known as 'Kid'
ever since.

But whence came the habit
which led to me effectively christening myself? Why did I call people 'kid'
to begin with? I'm glad I pretended you asked. Back in the early '70s, there
was a brilliant comedy series called WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE
LIKELY LADS, starring JAMES BOLAM and RODNEY BEWES. In fact,
as they had alternating billing from week to week, if you re-read that last
sentence, reverse the order of their names so that I don't hear from
their agents or solicitors.

Although the programme was a comedy, it also had pathos, poignancy
and profundity - otherwise known as the three Ps. During the course of
their frequent nostalgia-laden soliloquies, the characters often addressed
each other as 'kid' or 'kidda'. In my devotion to the programme and my desire
to emulate my heroes, I adopted the practice of referring to everyone I knew
(and some I didn't) as 'kidda', which resulted in some puzzled looks. You see,
the words 'kidda' and 'kidder' sound pretty similar when pronounced with a
lazy Glaswegian accent, and this made folks think I was accusing them of
pulling my leg in some way.

"Kidder?", they would say
(likewise pronouncing it as
'kidda') - "Kidding about what?"
Well, it didn't take me long to
realize that adopting the shorter
alternative option -'kid' - would
avoid any uneccessary confusion
amongst my sturdy band of com-
panions and free me from having
to endlessly explain myself.

It could have been worse. I
had once been in the habit of
exclaiming "Jings, man!" in
response to anything of even
a vaguely interesting or sur-
prising nature. This inevitably
led to friends and acquaintances calling me 'Jings-Man' every time I
appeared on the horizon. Luckily, I soon dropped the use of this 'oath'
(doubtless acquired from reading too many BROONS and OOR WULLIE
strips in THE SUNDAY POST) and thus escaped any long-term association
with the term which could have resulted in lasting damage to my delicate
sensibilities. I much prefer being called 'Kid' - or 'Sir', even. (In fact, now
that I come to think about it, 'Master' is good as well.)

And there you have it! The hitherto secret origin of how I gained my
teenage nickname which has remained with me to this day. And you also
have an object lesson in the art of writing something about nothing - but
you should only ever do so if your very life depends on it, so I have
absolutely no excuse.

A HINT OF A GLINT THROUGH THE WINDOW...

 

I love this time of year. Autumn has its own scents and hues, and, as

it starts to give way to Winter, assumes a magical, hybrid quality of the

two seasons peculiar unto itself. When any last faint remnants of lingering

Summer have finally disappeared and been replaced with the preliminary

signs of Jack Frost's rapidly oncoming kingdom, I can't help but think back

to what an enchanted time it seemed to be when I was a kid.

 

Getting up on dark mornings, streetlights a-twinkle; the first spidery

glints of frost on the windows and pavements outside; warm milk on my

cornflakes to fortify me for my trek to school; sitting in front of the electric

fire, hypnotized by the shadows of dancing, flickering simulated flames;

the fresh, biting chill of the air - all those memories - or any combination

of them - embody that particular period of my personal history. Even

today, the alluring nature of the season is as much to do with the

warm glow of memory as enjoying it for its own sake.

 

The walk to school, the chatter of friends, the sheer exuberance of

childhood - how it all comes rushing back to me in torrents. A large part of

those memories is shaped by whatever comics I happened to be buying at the

time: TV CENTURY 21, WHAM!, SMASH!, FANTASTIC, WHIZZER

& CHIPS, MIGHTY WORLD OF MARVEL, SPIDER-MAN COMICS

WEEKLY and many more - all those publications seem to blend into one big

memory (regardless of whether they were actually available or I was buying

them concurrently or not), and span a goodly number of years from primary

to secondary school. (I often smuggled a newly purchased comic into the

classroom in my schoolbag and then had to suffer an agony of waiting

'til I could peruse it during the interval.)

 

And just think what we had to look forward to at that time of the year;
Hallowe'en, Guy Fawkes' Night, Christmas - and I had the added
bonus of having my birthday fall at around the same time. No wonder I
tend to look back on those events with such fondness - I was just the
right age to appreciate them in all their spectacular, multi-coloured,
atmospheric glory. I'm sure it's the same for most people.   

So, in an unseemly fit of sentimentality and nostalgia, I've dug through
my files and unearthed some comic covers which would've been on sale
towards the end of the year back in the 1960s & 1970s, in an attempt
to crystalize not only my happy recollections of days gone by, but - if
you're around the same age as myself - perhaps also your own. Hope
you enjoy them.

See? You can go home again - even if it's only for a short visit.   

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE...

Above is the cover from the second THOR KING-SIZE SPECIAL

from 1966, below is a reprint from 1994 - which still carries the original

indicia, but with the words 'second printing' appended to it. Sharp-eyed

readers will notice that ol' Goldilocks' right arm is different on the two

versions, the first having been amended before printing, the second

featuring the cover as KING KIRBY originally drew it.

The reason for this is obvious: Marvel's file copies of artwork were

usually photostatted before any alterations were made, hence many

reprints down through the years sported pages as they had originally

been drawn, not published. Thankfully, in recent years, Marvel has

addressed this issue and striven to ensure that reprints are as close

to archival quality as possible.

Thought you might enjoy seeing Kirby's original version.

 

But hold! There's even more to the story! Take a good look at

this third version of the cover, below.

 

 

While thumbing through my hardbacked volume of THOR MASTER-

WORKS Vol 5 recently, I espied this amazing oversight. Either the patch

covering Thor's original arm has fallen off (which would mean that Marvel

had access to the original art), or an art restorer re-created the new arm

on a file photostat, but then forgot to delete the original Kirby limb it was

intended to replace. Who knows the truth behind this Marvel mystery?

Answers in the comments section if it happens to be you.

NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL FUNNY...

Well, it made ME laugh.

(From The Beano & The Dandy Celebrate Dennis The Menace - available now from all good bookshops.)

"AND THERE WERE GIANTS UPON THE EARTH IN THOSE DAYS..."

It was intended to be a single-series, revolving-door showcase for a
roster of MARVEL's mightiest heroes, but no sooner had the first issue
hit the stands than plans underwent revision. GIANT-SIZE SUPER-STARS
#1 starred THE FANTASTIC FOUR, with the second issue scheduled to
feature none other than your friendly neighbourhood SPIDER-MAN.
(PETER PARKER's amazing alter-ego would doubtless be first choice
to launch any new alternating series nowadays, but, back then, the Fab
Four were still accorded premier position in the Mighty Marvel
firmament of Super-Stars.)

However, it soon became apparent to the 'powers-that-be' that, rather than
restrict the concept to one title, it would be potentially more profitable to
give each chosen group or hero their own giant-size mag. And so, Spidey
was awarded his own 68 page comicbook series and what would've been
the second issue of Super-Stars evolved into GIANT-SIZE FANTASTIC
FOUR #2, followed by another four successive issues over the course of
the next fourteen months or so.

There were a number of different titles in the various Giant-Size quarterly
series on sale back in 1974-'75. GIANT-SIZE SPIDER-MAN, GIANT-SIZE
AVENGERS, GIANT-SIZE CONAN, GIANT-SIZE CAPTAIN MARVEL,
GIANT-SIZE DOCTOR STRANGE, GIANT-SIZE DRACULA, GIANT-SIZE
DEFENDERS and a host of others got the same treatment, proving that
when Marvel has an idea, they exploit it to the full. However, it's the good
ol' FF that we're concerned with today.
 

I didn't even know of the existence of these mags at the time they first
came out - it wasn't until 1979 or '80 that I obtained the first issue when I
ordered it unseen from a back issue dealer in Bournemouth. And that was
a battered copy containing only the main story, the back-up features
having been 'surgically' removed from the comic. It must have been
sometime around the mid-'90s perhaps, before I was able to obtain the
full six issue set and finally see the complete contents of issue #1. (Only
to find that the missing pages were pin-ups reprinted from FF ANNUAL
#1, which had been in my collection for some time.)

The main stories in the first four issues were all brand-new material,
with reprints from the early days of the FF as back-up content. (Annual
#1, and regular issues #13, 21 & 28.) The last two issues in the series
reprinted  FF Annuals #5 & 6 as their main features, with issue 5 also
including another tale from the Foursome's early days. (Issue #15, and
not the MOLECULE MAN story from #20 as erroneously stated on
the cover blurb in the image above.)
 

 So, let's return to an earlier, more innocent time; the seemingly sun-
soaked, care-free days of the sizzling '70s, and enjoy all six scintillating
covers in their full, unadulterated, cataclysmic glory.

THE PERRY RHODAN FILES - PART TWO...

Here's the second part of THE PERRY RHODAN FILES, featuring
more covers from his 1967 comic and some photographic stills from the
movie based on the characters and concepts. Try as I might, I can't really
generate any enthusiasm for the comic - it just seems well below par. And
the movie doesn't look up to much either, to be honest. If anyone wants
to weigh in with their opinions on why ol' Perry was the greatest thing
since sliced bread, then feel absolutely free.

Assuming that anyone is interested, be sure to tune in again for

Part Three whenever I can't think of anything else to write about.

The blonde sure looks okay 'though, doesn't she?

CALLING ALL DENNIS FANS...

As the proud possessor of every DENNIS THE MENACE book ever printed, I greeted the news that there's to be no regular Dennis book this year with mixed emotions. On the one hand I'm disappointed that his annual escapades have come to an end; on the other I'm somewhat relieved to be able to write 'finis' to a collection which stretches back to the mid-'50s and is now complete.

However, do not despair, fellow Dennis-lovers. D.C. THOMSON's have released this beautifully bound hardback volume showing Dennis at his very best, with comic capers from his earliest appearances in THE BEANO, right up to his modern-day madcap meanderings. (Also includes other features and strips.) What's more, as well as a DVD containing two of Dennis's TV cartoons, the book also includes a separate, good-quality complete reproduction of the very first Beano he appeared in back in 1951.

Dennis may be 60 years old, but he's still the world's wildest boy at heart. Don't miss this superb collectors' item - available now from all good bookshops. Priced at £12.99, it can be ordered direct from DCT for £9.99. Also, some shops are bound to include it in a 'buy one, get one half-price' deal in conjunction with other books, so be sure to shop around. 

ISBN # 9781-1-84535-462-2   

'DUNCANRIG DOUGIE' - A TRIBUTE...

So far on this blog I've related a couple of anecdotes about two of

my old art teachers, MR. BOB BELL and MR. SLOSS, with a passing

reference to MR. McLEAN along the way.

Now it's time to draw back the curtain and introduce yet another
teacher from the dim and distant days of my youth; so give a big hand for
MR. DOUGIE SMITH, one of the more popular teachers at DUNCANRIG
SENIOR SECONDARY. Not that any pupil ever dared call him Dougie to
his face as far as I know, but that was how they affectionately referred
to him throughout the school.


Mr Smith's classroom under fire-escape stairway

You know that sense of amazement one feels when, years after having

left school, you see a teacher who doesn't seem to have aged in the slightest

since you were a kid? When you're a youngster, anyone over twenty-one seems

older than they actually are, which probably accounts for my inability to give

an accurate assessment of what age Mr. Smith would've been back in the early

'70s. He could have been anything from 35-45, but it'd be pointless trying to

narrow it down any further because I simply don't have a clue. Not that it's

important I suppose, but I like to give my readers (both of them) a fully

rounded picture of the subject under discussion.



Mr Smith's old Maths class in 2007. At some point the room had
been extended out into the hallway...



Anyway, Mr. Smith was a blond-haired and what I assume would be

considered fairly handsome Maths teacher who, like many another teacher at

that time, still wore the classic bat-like gown as immortalised by MR. CREEP

in the WINKER WATSON strip in THE DANDY. I seem to remember him

also wearing the mortarboard hat on occasion, but quite possibly I'm imagining
it. ('Though as he had the gown he would most likely have had the hat too, one

would presume.) The fact that teachers still wore such traditional educational

apparel most likely accounts for why I never found strips like BILLY BUNTER

or the aforementioned Winker to appear outdated - it was an everyday

sight that didn't appear unusual in the slightest.



...and how it would have looked in my day



As the saying goes, Mr. Smith was a 'good egg'. I remember him telling

me one day, "Gordon, some of the other teachers say that they regard you

as a difficult pupil, but I find that as long as I don't try and make you do

anything which you're not interested in, then you're no trouble at all."

Which is not to suggest that I was a troublemaker of any sort, but I

was a daydreamer. If I wasn't doodling on the covers or margins of my

jotters then I was staring out a window off into space, lost in my own little

world. Mr. Smith was wise enough to realize that it was better to leave me

there, rather than try and compel me to apply myself to a subject I had no

interest in, or, indeed, aptitude for. Unlike another teacher (whose name

escapes me, otherwise I would readily identify the guilty party), who once

gave me 'six of the best' for my inabilty to master the intricacies of an

Algebra equation.

View from one of the windows

But now to the point of
this story. ("At last!" cry those
who have not yet abandoned
the arduous trek.) Mr. Smith,
if I remember the details
correctly after almost 40
years, was involved in the
task of producing a Maths
booklet for use throughout
schools in THE COUNTY
COUNCIL OF LANARK-
SHIRE as it used to be known.
One day he asked me if I would
be prepared to draw some
cartoon illustrations for said
project, and I didn't need to
be asked twice. It took a few
days for him to determine precisely where my artwork would be required,
but once armed with the necessary information I got to work.

A week or two later and much to my surprise, he presented me with an
envelope containing a whopping £5 (which was a lot of money to a 14-15
year old at the start of the '70s) as payment for my contribution. "It comes
out of the budget" he said, by way of explanation.

The picture (from an initial 'rough') inspired by one below



I was especially proud of one picture in particular, and had it specifically in
mind when I produced my KEVIN & HIS TALKING SOCKS strip for possible
inclusion in a comic called OINK! A period of a dozen or so years lay between
the execution of these two drawings, which, as I relate this to you, strikes me
as requiring further, completely unnecessary, long-winded exposition. (Even
if that last part is a complete contradiction in terms.)

Back in 1985/'86, my schooldays seemed like an inordinately long
time past. They were practically half my life away after all, which probably
accounts for that particular period appearing almost prehistoric from my mid-
'80s perspective. Nowadays, however, anything that happened ten or twelve
years back seems to have occurred no more than two or three years ago at the
very most. It's scary to consider that the quarter of a century gap between 1986
and today doesn't feel anywhere near as long as the far shorter (almost by
half) period between 1973 and 1986. Yup, it really is true; time
seems to go by faster the older one gets.


Not having a photo of Mr Smith, one of comic
artist supreme George Tuska will have to
suffice. To my mind, they were extremely
similar in appearance

Anyway, returning to the point of this personal reminiscence before even I
lose track, a belated thank you is long overdue to Mr. Smith for giving me what
could be described as my very first paid 'professional' assignment - and for simply
being such a thoroughly decent bloke. He's probably been retired for some years
now, but it would be nice to think that he might in some way hear of this 'tribute'
to him and be touched by it. Knowing you made a difference to someone's
life can sometimes make a difference to your own.

Here's to you, Dougie. Hope you're hale and hearty.

******

And below, in all their unretouched glory, are the four illustrations drawn
with a black ink BIC biro in a blank jotter on a lazy afternoon in Mr. Smith's
Maths class all those years ago. Nothing brilliant by any means, but while
I indulged myself, my classmates had to get on with doing their sums. I
wonder if I'm the only pupil to get paid for doing something else during
school hours?

(Actually, now that I think about it, I remember finishing the fourth one at

home, so the Maths period must have been the last one of the afternoon.)

******

FOOTNOTE: Since writing this, I've been beset by a nagging suspicion

that I may have misremembered the actual amount of renumeration

involved. Perhaps it was only £2 and not £5 in that envelope. However,

if so - two quid was still a lot of dosh for young teenager back then.

Especially as I earned most of it during school hours when I should've

been doing something else.