OVER THE HILL (AND FAR AWAY)...

One of the odd things I've noticed about myself as I get older is that my sense of distance is greater, and that places seem farther away from me than they once used to.  I don't mean visually, but geographically.  For example, the environs of my old neighbourhood once seemed, in my subconscious mind, to be so close that if I looked out of my window, there they would be for me to gaze upon as though I actually still lived there.

This feeling was no doubt made more acute by the fact that, when I first moved from my previous abode, I returned every weekday to attend the school across from my former home.  After school, once I'd had my tea, I would visit pals in the area and, truth to tell, I was along there so often that it probably never quite registered that I no longer lived there and was merely a visitor.

The distance between the two neighbourhoods seemed practically non-existent back then, and, to me, was no greater walk than the local shops at the end of my street.  It was the same with most locales I was familiar with - they seemed no farther away than the time it took me to think of them.  My house was like the TARDIS - outside its doors was any location I wanted to visit.  All I had to do was walk through them and I'd be there.

Nowadays my perceptions are strangely different.  My old neighbourhood seems as distant as MORDOR, and a lifetime away to reach.  What was once a brief walk now stretches before me like an arduous trek from which I may not return.  Whereas I never before felt far removed from any familiar childhood place, I now feel remote and isolated from them, and they seem to be as difficult to reach as the fabled BRIGADOON. 

I suppose that's as good a definition of 'over the hill' as it's possible to get.  Funny how I never before realised how literal a description of advancing years it actually is.  When you're over the hill, once-familiar 'places' on the other side are far more difficult to access - and it's an uphill struggle to even attempt the task.

******

"Ah, sweet boyhood, how eager are we as boys to be quit of thee, with what regret do we look back on thee before our man's race is half-way run!"  J. Meade Falkner.

A QUESTION TO 'EXHAUST' YOU... TO RESTORE OR NOT TO RESTORE?

As you can see, the bold young bruin YOGI BEAR makes a comeback to this blog in yet more photos of my recent acquisition.  However, this time there's actually a reason apart from ownerly pride, and it's this.  First of all, I've tidied up the paint job on him and affixed an exhaust to the side of his scooter, held on by double-sided tape as I don't want to make the addition a 'permanent' feature at this time.

Some collectors will be horrified by my repainting some details of the toy, as it's generally acknowledged that this can affect the value of the piece.  That aspect doesn't concern me however, as I don't buy things for the investment potential, but just because I want them.  Also, unless an item is very nearly perfection personified to begin with, I like to add my 'stamp' to the thing when I'm repairing, restoring, or enhancing it.  In that way, it's my toy, not just a generic example.

As for the exhaust, later versions of the MARX scooter toy had exhausts which (going by the SPIDER-MAN and GOOFY photos at the foot of this post) look as if they plug into holes in the side.  I assume that Yogi was an early version, issued without one, but if anyone knows for sure, please let me know.  As I said, I've temporarily added one I made myself with double-sided tape, even if it's not an exact match.  Looks good though.

As you can see from the unretouched seller's photo of Yogi (below) before I did some work on him, the paint job was fairly crude.  (In earlier outings I 'tidied up' the photo digitally.)  Compare it to the picture at the top of the post to see the difference.  My own opinion is that if someone has the necessary skill to improve the finish on a poorly painted toy, then go for it.

So, what's your verdict?  Improvement or sacrilege?  If you have an opinion - or any information about Marx scooter toys in general - feel free to visit the comments section.

CLARK GOES SOLO - FAVOURITE COMICS Of The PAST - PART SEVENTEEN...

All images copyright DC COMICS

Ah, what do I write about today, that I haven't already waxed both lyrically and eloquently upon in previous posts, in an excruciating, unnecessary and agonising amount of trivial detail?  Aye, there's the rub!

The puzzling paradoxes of time?  Done that.  The myriad mysteries of life, the universe and everything?  Been there.  The pleasant pursuit of happiness in the modern world?  Saving that for a rainy day. 

So what does that leave me?  H'mm, well, I could always write something about a comic or toy I suppose.

Let's talk about SUPERMAN #201.  I remember the day I first got this comic on a Saturday afternoon back in the '60s while on a trip 'round Glasgow's famous BARROWLAND market.  If I recall correctly, this was the same day I again saw the CECIL COLEMAN SUPERCAR toy, which I had first clapped eyes upon a year or two before in, of all places, the SAFEWAY supermarket in my local town centre.

On both occasions I was disappointed, as my parents wouldn't buy it for me, but later I was allowed to choose a comic from a stall selling U.S. comicbooks.  (Of course, there's always a chance I'm combining two separate Saturdays in my mind, but it's my story and I'll 'lie' if I want to.)  The comic I picked was Superman #201, and I recall walking around 'the Barras' with my nose buried in its pages.  I remember both stories in the issue, but in particular the back-up tale, which was drawn by either GEORGE PAPP or AL PLASTINO).

In fact, it's fair to say that I recollect the main story just as well, but I don't associate it with the crowded aisles of the Barras quite as much, for some strange reason.  (Perhaps I saved that tale for outside.)  The cover just screams 'Glasgow' to me whenever I look at it.

So there you are then.  Another favourite comic of the past, which I treasure for itself as much as for the memories it conjures up in the mazes of my mind.  Do you have any nostalgic associations with this particular issue which you'd care to share with fellow readers?  Then feel free to leave a comment.

    

GROUND CONTROL TO SANTA CLAUS...

I know it was an evening in December, but I'm unable to pinpoint the precise year.  Could've been 1966, certainly no later than '68,  just before Christmas.  I was out shopping with my parents and, whilst in Woolworth's, I saw a toy which I immediately had to have.  Luckily it was inexpensive and, well - it was nearly Christmas, so my parents purchased it for me.  It was a friction-drive toy (Marx* perhaps?) of Santa Claus in a rocket sleigh, with a reindeer head protruding from the front of it.  Behind Santa was the top half of his sack full of toys.  (*LP Toys was the manufacturer.)

I'd like to have this toy again, so if anybody recognises its description and knows where I might acquire one, I'd appreciate them letting me know in the comments section.  Sorry, I don't have a photo to show what it look like.

(Update: Well, I didn't when I first published this post, but I do now.  The toy was called Space Blimp Of Christmas, and I managed to obtain one in an earlier version of the box [above] than the one [below] I recall the toy having when I got my first one.)

(Another update: I now have the one shown below as well.)

MIKE NOBLE'S FIRST FIREBALL XL5 STRIP - PART THREE...

Images copyright relevant owner

Right, let's crack on with the latest episodes of FIREBALL XL5 from TV CENTURY 21, and marvel at mighty MIKE NOBLE's dynamically dramatic drawings of Colonel STEVE ZODIAC and his cosmic coterie of comrades, as they fly around the universe protecting planets and guarding galaxies from attacking aliens and marauding menaces.

And if you think it's easy writing long-winded waffle like the above, then you couldn't be more wrong.  Why, sometimes it takes me seconds to come up with these captions which so delight and enthral you.  I trust you all appreciate the time and trouble I go to on your behalf.

  

IN RECEIPT OF A MEMORY...

I was cleaning out an exterior cupboard in our back porch the other day and, in a dufflebag hanging on a nail, I found this receipt from 1982, revealing the fate of various familiar household items - most of which I had grown up with.

The tea set and the cruets could well have belonged to my grandparents, recently inherited by us upon their deaths, because I'm not quite sure which ones they were.  The mirror, sewing machine, table and log box, however, had all accompanied me in my journey through childhood and my teenage years, right up into adulthood, and are still sorely missed by me.  I have photos of them somewhere and shall dig them out at some point and add them to this post. (The table and log box, though, have popped up in previous posts on this blog.)

However, it's strange to be able to put an exact date to their departure after all these years.  And the £40 my parents were paid for the items is nothing short of robbery, even for 1982.  I sometimes wonder where they are now.  Did someone eventually buy them from the robber - oops, I mean dealer - in a single acquisition, or were they subsequently bought separately and now residing in different homes all across the country?  I don't suppose I'll ever find out, but, if I could, I'd buy them all back again.

The survival of the receipt is surprising.  The fact that it must have come with us when we moved away in 1983, then back to this house when we returned in 1987, boggles my imagination.  Lying in a Duffel Bag for 30-odd years, waiting to fulfill its destiny of revealing to me the exact date when fondly cherished items from yesteryear were untimely ripped (at poor recompense) from my company.

That means, of course, that they've been absent from my life far longer than they were ever a part of it.  Only in the physical sense though, because, truth to tell, they're never far from my thoughts and sometimes, for brief periods, I forget that they no longer inhabit my home, and aren't more than just an arm's reach or a room away.

******

"Sweet is the memory of distant friends!  Like the mellow rays

of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart."

Washington Irving.

******

I should add, in the interests of historical accuracy, that the log box may not have been the large one I'm thinking of, but rather a smaller one we 'inherited' from my grandparents when they moved into an old folks' home at the end of the 1970s.  The larger one may have been dispensed with at the beginning of '81 when I was staying down in Southsea for a few months.  Age, alas, prevents me from recalling exactly which one it was with my customary precision.  However, the smaller box was also a feature of my childhood, as it was from this that my brother and myself were each given two bars of chocolate on our weekly Sunday visits to my grandparents.

CHANGE Is The NAME Of The GAME...

As you can see, I've shortened the title of my blog by removing my name from it.  The main reason, to be quite honest, is that my nickname seems to attract the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of people, going by some of the dubious search keywords in the traffic sources section.  I'm sure you're all smart enough to figure out what I'm alluding to without me having to spell things out for you, but obviously I don't want such people visiting my blog - even if it is only by mistake.  What a world we live in.

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND SINS...

 

 

I was up in the attic earlier today and, in a corner under a sheet, was this portrait of me painted many moons ago.  Trouble is, when it was first done it looked like the photograph of me in my blog's sidebar.  That's it - I'm going on a strict diet of self-discipline.  From now on, I'm restricting myself to a mere 100 sins a day.  That should slow down the decay a tad. 

 

Still - handsome buggah, eh?

FRANKIE GOES DOWN The DRAIN...

 

Copyright REBELLION

 

A while back, over on this post, I published an episode of FRANKIE STEIN, as drawn by the great KEN REID and featured in WHAM! back in the '60s. For those of you who may have been wondering what happened next, here are the subsequent two instalments of this particular storyline.  Further episodes coming soon.

The KID HAS BEEN HIJACKED!

 

 

I've just made an interesting discovery - my blog has been hijacked.  LUPUS FOG BLOG seems to consist mostly of posts from this very site, occasionally interspersed with posts from some other source.

 

I'm puzzled.  Is it meant as a tribute in some way, or has some lazy person just decided to take the easy route because he has nothing to write about himself?  They say that "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery", but is this imitation - or simply a rip-off?   

KIRBY KLASSIC ON SALE NOW!

Images copyright DC COMICS

I discovered recently that a book I've been waiting ages for - In The DAYS Of The MOB - had finally been released and was now on sale.  I rushed out yesterday afternoon and bought myself a copy.  Although I have the original magazine, this deluxe hardback edition also contains the comic strip contents for the never published issue #2.  Well, now you can have both issues in the same valiant volume.  Don't waste your money on food, clothes, or any of the other unnecessary luxuries with which you can do without - run right 'round to your nearest comicbook store as soon as you can and holler "Make Mine Kirby!"

IF A BRUIN IS AT YOUR BACK, DOES THAT MEAN YOU'VE GOT A BEAR BEHIND?

Yes, yes - I'm quite sure you're fed up with seeing little YOGI on his scooter all over this blog, but he arrived home from his 'extended holiday' in Australia today and is settling in nicely.  Not cheap, but well worth the dosh to be reunited with an item from my earliest childhood and the memories associated with it.

A few years back, I read a newspaper article about a fella who ran a 'Teddy Bear Hospital' (or some such thing).  People would bring in (or send him) their old teddies when they were a bit the worse for wear and he would repair them, restoring them to pristine newness.  Why did he run such a venture, he was asked.  Turned out that, when he was a boy, his mother took his teddy bear away from him on the grounds that he was 'too old' for it.  That was the start.

He missed his ted so much that, over the years, he developed a kind of obsession with teddy bears and started collecting them to fill the void left by the forced removal of his little chum from boyhood.  One thing led to another and, eventually, he decided to combine business with pleasure, so that he could devote himself to the things he loved most in all the world.  (After his wife, of course.  Yes, I'm pretty sure he had a wife.  That's Trekkies you're thinking of.)

Similarly, the memory of this toy has haunted me for nigh-on 45 years.  Never seen one at toy fairs, swap-meets, memorabilia shows, or anywhere such collectables are usually found.  What's more, nobody to whom I mentioned it had any knowledge or recollection of it.  Then I do a post on my blog and, hey presto - about a month or so later someone responds, telling me they've got one - and in its original box too.

Anyway, the photos shown on my previous posts on the subject were supplied by the seller - these ones were taken by myself only about half an hour ago, so I thought I'd share them with you here.  Don't lie - you're jealous, aren't you?  Oh, yes you are!

    

PART TWO Of MIKE NOBLE'S FIRST FIREBALL XL5 STRIP...

Images copyright relevant owner

So Crivvies, where were we?  Ah, yes - we were looking at MIKE NOBLE's rapturously-rendered FIREBALL XL5 strip from the pulsating pages of the titanically terrific TV CENTURY 21.  You should all know the background by now, but if not, you can browse back through the blog and acquaint yourselves with the previous posts pertaining to the topic.

So, let's go.  Last one back to Fireball Junior is a Tootie! 

METHINKS THE 'TROLLS' DO PROTEST TOO MUCH...

I'm not a fan of the word 'Troll', but I use it in the title in an ironic way, seeing as that's the word used by a certain person to describe me.  Anyway, my last post, published in response to his devious distortion of events on another forum, seems to have brought the worms out of the woodwork.

Here's a sample of their well-reasoned and thoughtfully-considered comments (along with my answers) which they seemingly couldn't live without sharing with me.

******

"Wow you look a lot like a peado Kid." - Anon.

(Should stop hanging around with paedos then, seeing as how you claim to know what one looks like.  I see that you can't spell the word correctly 'though.  Finding remedial class difficult?)

******

"Complete horseshit." - Anon.

(Yes, that's what I thought after reading your comment.)

******

"How sad is your life??"  - Anon.

(At a guess, I'd say probably about ten times less sad than yours.)

******

"Do you masturbate whilst you write these things?" - Alistair Robb.

(Did it give you a thrill to type the word 'masturbate'?)

******

Ah, the joys of being a blogger, eh?

******

Here's the latest from Beanodobber.  Nice of him to prove he can't draw.  As for success, working on a comic with less than 40,000 issues sold per week, at the lowest wages possible - that's success?  I made far more dosh doing lettering in a week than his pal ever made - even when he freelanced for IPC.

And again.

And just for comparison, here's one of mine.

Beanodobber when he had hair.  Drawn in 1998

And another.

Uninked caricature.  Drawn in 2005

Well, I certainly know which person  I'd prefer to have working for me if I were a publisher.

******

And here's another of Beanodobber's scribbles.

And below is a photocopy of a pencil drawing I did 33 years ago.  Not bad for a 'third-rate doodler', eh?  Hopefully it'll scare the schecht out of Beanodobber - or at least make him realise that he's out of his depth in every way.

LEW'S - Er - WHO'S A LIAR NOW?

He picked the wrong target though

Take a look at this piece of nonsense, just added to the post discussed a short time ago.  Ready for this?

"His technique is simple: he accuses his perceived enemies of being guilty of his own character flaws. And he does it very articulately and very convincingly.  Unfortunately some casual observers (who may not know the whole story) fall for it.  Yesterday on a forum he tried to discredit me by quoting a Twitter conversation out of context.  I showed that the true context didn't damn me in any way at all.  Today on his blog he's claiming that he exposed my lies, not vice versa.  All part of his m.o.  Perhaps he believes it himself?  Who knows?  It's all very petty and childish, but annoying for the people he plays these mind games with."

Let's take that bit by bit, shall we, and in so doing expose the true extent of his nefarious nature.

1) "Yesterday on a forum he tried to discredit me by quoting a Twitter conversation out of context."

Actually, it wasn't out of context, it was slightly out of sequence as a result of him challenging me to provide the proof for my assertions, knowing that the source of that proof had been 'locked' to deny me access.  Obliged to rely on memory, I got the sequence of two comments in the reverse order to which they'd appeared.

However, here's the important bit - the truth of my claim - that he'd criticised the forum (by describing it as a 'Bizzarro [sic] World', and saying that he 'was done with it') was in no way affected by this.  Although it may not have been in response to the specific remark I was thinking of, it was in response to one of his cohort's comments.

2) "I showed that the true context didn't damn me in any way at all."

Really?  I say again - really?  The point I was making was that he'd criticised the forum.  (Calling it a Bizarro World can hardly be construed as a compliment.)  The obvious truth of this was in no way affected by me thinking that it'd been in response to one comment rather than another.  Someone please explain in what way the accuracy of my remark - that he'd criticised the forum - was even remotely compromised by being, as he likes to put it - 'quoted out of context'.

As he wants context, let's give him context.  The fact is, dear reader, that the entire context of the conversation by both parties was one of criticism of a site of which they're both members, so my inadvertent oversight in the sequence of a couple of comments in no way diluted the truth of my assertion one whit.  To suggest otherwise is ridiculous.

3) "Today on his blog he's claiming that he exposed my lies, not vice-versa."

And I did!  Let me now demonstrate exactly how he lied.  I'd also mentioned that his cohort had 'dissed' the entire forum.  In what way would you interpret the following remarks?  "They can all go f*ck themselves" and "They're welcome to each other.  F*ds".  My remarks were clear that, in that specific instance, it was the 'other member' I was referring to (I said as much in the sentence), yet this didn't prevent him from, more than once, saying that I'd been referring to him rather than his pal.

However, at no time did he disagree with the sentiments his pal expressed - and as he'd already criticised the forum anyway - in a very real sense he did actually 'diss' the entire forum.  Let me remind you - calling it a Bizarro World and saying he was done with it.  That's not criticism?  The order of the comments merely reveals that he criticised the forum first rather than second, which makes no actual difference to the content of his remarks, only the sequence.  Just like him to misdirect attention to a tiny spot on the wallpaper while ignoring a great big hole in the wall.  (In this case, his entire argument.) 

So, let's recap, shall we?  He claims he didn't criticise the forum.  He did - as I have just conclusively demonstrated.  So he clearly and inarguably lied.

He claims one of my comments was directed at him when it was, in fact, directed at the 'other member'.  As he usually always quotes the actual comment he's referring to, I fail to see how it could possibly be an honest mistake on his part.  Having already demonstrated his propensity for malicious misrepresentation, I've no option but to conclude he was deliberately lying in claiming himself as the object of that specific remark.  So, another lie.

Hell's teeth!  How much proof does anyone need that the man's not only a fantasist (witness his ascribing an 'm.o.' to me as if I'm a master criminal - must watch too much CSI), not only a distorter of truth - but also an outright liar, plain and simple?!

4) "It's all very petty and childish."

Well maybe he should just stop doing it then.

******

And now he's only gone and pulled his post.  Forget the transparent and self-righteous rationalisations he spouts over on his blog.  The fact is, he knew his false accusations wouldn't withstand the spotlight of truth once it was shone in their direction.  He's also running true to form - making wild and inaccurate statements, pressing people's buttons, causing mischief and mayhem, provoking people to respond and then deleting his inflammatory comments so he can claim moral superiority.  (And slyly sidestep having to refute the proof of his misdemeanours because he knows he can't.)  And he has the cheek to accuse me of 'mind games'.  Unbelievable!

Case proved.  Case closed.

******

Incidentally, contrary to some other dobber's* assertion over on the above individual's blog that I'm 'picking on' or 'targeting' him - complete b*ll*cks!  I'm merely responding to untruths and misrepresentations that he's persistently and publicly perpetuated about me.

(*Leach by name, leech by nature, it would seem.  Why else clamp on to a subject without knowing the full facts?)

The MARK Of The BEANO...

Dobber.  See bottom of post for his sibling

I should emphasise, in light of some ridiculous remarks that I'm 'targeting' the two individuals concerned, that this post is merely a response to fallacious remarks made about me on their Twitter sites.  As they initiated the situation, I can hardly be accused of 'picking on' them, now can I?

******  

Y'know, I reckon I'm a pretty decent guy.  I feed the poor, help the needy, and heal the sick.  True, that last one means only that I take an aspirin when I've got a headache, and, come to think of it, I'm referring to my own situation in the first two examples as well.  But, what the hell - charity begins at home they say.

Recently, someone has been having a go at me on another forum.  This person has been publicly insulting about me and has spread lies and distortions, and published a link to a photo of me on his Twitter site.  "Why?" you may ask.  Simple.  He's a dobber.  A fat, bald, dobber.  On his site, he uses intemperate language and indulges in pretty pointless tweets about nothing much at all. Except in my case, of course, as I'm extremely important.  (At least, I think that's the word the doctor used.)

The worrying thing about this is that, as he's keen to announce on his site, he works for The Beano.  Now, while it's nice to know the role of the teaboy is not dead, given his public pronouncements, I'm surprised the aforesaid weekly allows him to publicly advertise his association to one of Britain's once-finest institutions.  A publication primarily aimed at kids, 'tis said, by one of its other contributors, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the shifty-eyed individual in the above photo.

So what's his beef with me?  As I'm feeling in a particularly conspiratorial mood, permit me to share the facts with you.  On this other forum, a member mentioned that, after a period of Roger The Dodger's dad being rejuvenated into a younger man, his original, older appearance had now been 'restored'.  That was the good news.  The bad news was the strip was now being drawn by someone who can't actually draw very well.

To me, that's a similar scenario to being told your terminal illness is in remission and then being run over and killed by a bus after leaving the doctor's.  So I said so - in what I considered to be an innocuous, humorous and obviously hyperbolic remark.  Note that no specific illness was mentioned.  The purpose (as the intelligent amongst you will immediately recognize) was not to mock illness or death, but simply to point out that good news can often be accompanied or followed by a less than happy result.  A comparison of ironies, in other words.

Now, it's obvious that my occasional criticisms of certain aspects of the very periodical 'Tubs' works for is the real source of his irritation with me, but he used my ironic analogy as an excuse to throw a hissy fit, call me an "idiot who spouts urine", and then indulge in a dialogue with his 'clone' in which they made some disparaging remarks about me on their Twitter accounts.

As I said, I consider myself a nice guy, but one thing I won't tolerate is stand-ins for Tweedledum and Tweedledee attempting to stir up animosity against me by lies and distortions on their Twitter sites - or anywhere else for that matter.  If they're going to have a public go at me, then I feel not only entitled, but perfectly justified in doing likewise at them.

So, bearing in mind that they started it, I'm sure you'll understand me using my organ (behave, I'm talking about my blog) to slap down the guilty parties.  Sometimes a man's just gotta do what a man's gotta do.

So consider it done.

Separated  at birth?  I give you - 'The Dobber Twins'

******

I see that the 'twin' has posted a misleading reference to events on his own blog, and, as usual, resorts to tedious attempts at suggesting I'm an 'aggressive' troublemaker.  That's the problem with those who have an inflated sense of themselves - anyone who disagrees with them is described as being aggressive.  What he fails to mention is that on the forum in question, he has in the past been accused by others of a bullying and highhanded attitude, so I'm not the only one who has a problem with him.

He seems to think if he says something often enough, he can thereby plant the suggestion in folk's minds it must be the truth, but the fact is, he's the one who distorts, misrepresents - and as I irrefutably demonstrated yesterday on that other forum - just outright lies about things in his attempts to manipulate the facts to suit his purpose.  Which once again seems to be that anyone who has the 'temerity' to disagree with him is bitter, twisted and disturbed.

And marvel at his hypocrisy!  He describes my joke as 'sick', while seeing no irony in the fact he's responsible for a so-called humour strip about a guy who continually tries to commit suicide.  You couldn't make it up!  

The TOAD CAME HOME...

A 1967 edition of the acclaimed classic

Are you all sitting comfortably?  Good, then I'll begin.  My first exposure (ooer, missus) to Kenneth Grahame's 'The Wind In The Willows' was the Disney cartoon 'short' of the same name.  That wasn't the film's original title, which was 'The Adventures Of Ichabod And Mr. Toad', two animated tales combined in a single cinematic presentation.  Singer Bing Crosby narrated the Ichabod portion and actor Basil Rathbone performed the vocal honours on the Mr. Toad one.

Later, they were re-released separately, and renamed after the books on which they were based.  I saw TWITW at an inter-schools art competition prize-presentation (of which I was an entrant) in my local cinema on the afternoon of my very last day at primary school before the school holidays began.  The movie was screened, the prizes awarded, and we were then returned to our schools at the end of the afternoon to collect our schoolbags and jackets, and thereafter revel in eight whole weeks of summer fun before some of us started secondary school at the start of the new term.

It was on a lazy afternoon sometime in first year that I chanced upon the novel in the school library, as chalk dust floated languidly in the white glare of the sunlight which pierced the large curtained windows at the side of the room.  I had enjoyed the cartoon (and recognized snippets of it from screenings of 'Disney Time' on TV one Christmas or other) so decided to read the book and promptly got it stamped out.  It was certainly a good read, but it didn't make an overwhelming impression on me of the kind that one might expect from an acclaimed classic of literature.  No, that would come later - and here's how it did.

I was in my local newsagent's one day in 1972 or mid- '73, and, on their paperback spinner-rack, was the book whose cover you see at the top of this post.  There were two copies, one of which I bought solely because the cover illustration and the pristine, sharply-defined newness of the tome fascinated and appealed to me in some indefinable way.  I had no intention of actually re-reading it - I merely wanted to gaze upon it, handle it, and luxuriate in its presence and the sheer joy of owning an item of such aesthetic perfection.

But then disaster struck!  The next day I inadvertently dropped the book over the side of the settee and dunted a corner.  The putrid portrait in Dorian Gray's attic could not have presented a more terrible vision of ugliness and imperfection as that one crushed corner which so transfixed my horrified attention.  There was only one thing for it - to buy its twin with which it had recently shared a space in the spinner-rack of the shop from where I had purchased it.  I had acquired the first copy on a Friday afternoon after school, so, at the first available opportunity - which was Sunday morning - I rushed to the newsagent's and took possession of the doppelganger destined to assume the place of its maimed and mutilated companion.

Now I had two copies - one at which to gaze longingly in rapt admiration and appreciation of its awesome appearance, and one to - what, exactly?  Read?  Well, why not?  So that's precisely what I did!  It was on that second reading that the scales fell from my eyes and the wonder and mysteries and sheer beauty of Mr. Kenneth Grahame's (and Ernest H. Shepard's) captivating classic captured my heart and soul forever.  The River Bank, the Wild Wood, Toad, Ratty, Mole and Mr. Badger - and not forgetting the washerwoman, the pipes of Pan and the Stoats and the Weasels.

If you've never read The Wind In The Willows, do yourself a favour and do so before you die.  As A. A. Milne (the author of Winnie The Pooh and Toad Of Toad Hall) once wrote: "When you sit down to it, don't be so ridiculous as to suppose that you are sitting in judgement on my taste, or on the art of Kenneth Grahame.  You are merely sitting in judgement on yourself.  You may be worthy: I don't know.  But it is you who are on trial."

Truer words were never spoken.