YOU AIN'T NUTHIN' BUT A SPACE BLIMP, FLYIN' ALL THE TIME...

 

It may surprise all you captivated Crivvies to know that although you're reading this post on the run-up to Christmas, I actually typed it in the fading days of September.  You see, had I waited until December rolled around, I may well have forgotten my intention to write it.  (In fact, I had to keep 'refreshing' the draft so that it remained atop my posts, lest I forgot it once it vanished down the line.)  So, what's so important about it that I took the precaution of preparing it well in advance?  Good question.  Do I have a good answer though?  I can but try.  (No promises, mind.)

This will be the first Yuletide that my 'new' Space Blimp Of Christmas (bought on June 28th, delivered on the 30th) has spent with me since it replaced its original long-gone twin, purchased back around the late '60s while I was yet a primary school pupil.  The first one was bought from Woolworth's one dark December early evening, before my parents and myself retired to a nearby cafeteria for a cuppa, maybe even a snack.  Unless I'm combining two separate but similar memories that occurred in the same location, I also had a copy of Smash! with me as well as my new toy.

Why is it called a 'space blimp' though?  Apparently, the Chinese word 'Feichuan' translates as either spaceship, airship, dirigible, or blimp, so presumably the foreign manufacturers (LP Toys) picked the wrong word when they were deciding what to call it in English.  Spaceship would've been slightly more accurate, and then they could've indulged in a bit of alliteration (big fan, as you know) - Santa's Space Ship (if they insist on making it two words) Of Christmas.  (Or perhaps Santa's Space Sleigh would've been better?  Whaddya think?)

My original blimp didn't last too long as it was a bit fragile, but I had the Santa figure right up into my early or mid-teens.  I'd been wanting a replacement for decades, but was hampered by forgetting the toy's actual name.  Then, one day, I saw a photo and description of it on Moonbase Central, and armed with that vital information, I did a post asking if anyone had one they'd be prepared to sell.  (I'd done the same for a Marx Toys Yogi Bear friction-drive scooter, which led to a result.)  Moonbase also made a plea on my behalf a little later, and someone eventually contacted both Crivens and Moonbase to say they were putting one up for auction on eBay.

I messaged the seller and asked him to name his price, but he preferred to take bids, resulting in me getting it for far less than I'd have been willing to pay outright.  Surprisingly, for such a rare toy, there was only one other bidder, and I can imagine his disappointment when he discovered that he hadn't won.  (There was absolutely no way he was ever going to top my bid.   Another example of this very rare toy might never come up for sale again, so I was taking no chances.) 

The thing that appeals to me though, is that the toy appeared not to have been opened since the '60s (apart from the seller to take photos for his listing), and it had certainly never been played with as the 'appendages' (reindeer head and tail, Christmas tree and Santa's sack) were still sealed in their little poly bags.  Once attached to the blimp, they'd be practically impossible to remove without breaking them (apart from the sack) and it's definitely not something I ever intend to try.

So that means that I'm the very first person to assemble and hold this toy in its complete form* since it was first made back in the '60s - almost as if it was waiting for me to buy it - like it had my name on it you could say.  It had lain neglected in its box for decades, unseen and unloved (apart from a collector's love of ownership perhaps) until it passed into my possession, whereupon it became one of my most prized pieces, re-igniting happy childhood memories of so many Christmases ago.  I love a happy ending, don't you?  (Which is why I decided to write about it.)  And to think that this is the very first Christmas the toy's been out of its box - wow!

(*There was also a pre-assembled version of the toy in a larger window display box, which was the one I had in the '60s.  That apart, they were identical in every respect, though the blimp sometimes had a variant colour scheme (red top, blue bottom), probably regardless of whichever box it came in.  I suspect that my replacement's box is the earlier one, and that it was later changed so kids could see the actual toy and not just an illustration, which was retained as a header card on the second version of the box.)

Incidentally, you may think that Santa's sack isn't big enough to hold all the toys and gifts that are delivered every Christmas Eve, but leaving aside any possible magical TARDIS-type attributes it may have for the moment, my explanation is that he uses the sleigh pulled by Rudolph and his chums to deliver the majority of presents, then uses his blimp to deliver any last minute items that people forgot to put on their main list, which is why the sack is smaller.  Or am I taking all this just a little too seriously perhaps?  (Answers on a postcard...)  Merry Christmas when it comes, Crivvies, and God bless us, every one!  (Don't worry, there'll be another post or two before Christmas.)

SUNDAY'S BABE Of The DAY...

Valerie Perez...

The astounding Valerie had a cute little bunny

rabbit in her hand just a second ago, before she made

it disappear.  Where did it go to?  Who knows, but it

sure doesn't look like it's up her sleeve, eh?

PONDERINGS On PERCEPTIONS...

Or: The things that make up our lives...

I was having a little think earlier through the week.  Big thinks tire me out, so little thinks are easier on my mind, I find, and are much more manageable.  I was thinking about how our lives, or perceptions of them at any point - are so inextricably linked to lots of variable factors that surround us at the time.  For example, your perception of a certain time or place in your life is influenced by the comics you read, the TV shows you watched, the friends you hung around with, where you worked, etc.  

Yeah, granted, I'm stating the obvious, but the thing about the obvious is that we don't always pay attention to it.  It's right in front of us, so we tend to look past it while trying to see the wider picture.  The things that influence your perception of a place - a house or neighbourhood for example - alter over time, and as those things change, so, gradually, might your perception of it.

Should you then move from one domicile to another before your perception changes, and are still watching the same TV shows, buying the same comics, and still have the same furniture as in your previous home, then a sense of continuity and consistency in terms of mood, ambiance, perception, exists from one house to the next.  (It'd probably be different if you emigrated to another country, but I'm talking about more local flits.)

However, as time passes, new TV shows come and old ones go (and the same for comics and furniture) and the 'timbre' (figuratively speaking) of your home, hearth - and, indeed, life - gradually changes, and becomes different to what it had been, taking on almost another 'personality' that may not always be an improvement on the original (though sometimes it might be).  It's then that dissatisfaction may creep in, as your home and neighbourhood no longer supplies the sense of the familiar that you were once so comfortable with.

Sure, these days you can still watch repeats of all the classic TV shows (on Freeview channels) that you watched in your youth, but you're now aware that they really belong in a different 'universe' (the past) which you can tap into every so often if you wish, but are no longer contemporaneous, current, new, now, in the way that they were when you were growing up with them.  Once you reach a certain age, a partition seems to come down and separate you from your past, whereas, up to that point, that partition was imperceptible and always open - if, in fact, it even existed.

As most regular readers will know, after living in my current house for 11 years, my family moved to another neighbourhood, then moved back to our former house four years later.  At first everything was pretty much the same, but gradually things started to change, affecting the 'mood' of the place.  Neighbours flitted, extensions were built (on other houses, not mine), lampposts, pavements, and street signs were replaced, green areas in front of houses were turned into car parking spaces, buildings on the horizon were demolished and replaced, as well as other changes, like local shops disappearing.

So now the 'ambience' of the place is different to what it used to be, and I find myself yearning for how things were when we first flitted here back in 1972.  That'll never happen of course, but sometimes I lie on top of my bed in the room that was mine when I was yet 13 (and a half), with a book or comic that I owned back then (or a replacement) and pretend that everything outside the closed curtains of my bedroom window is still the same as when I was much younger.  It's my way of trying to re-create the 'perception' I had of the house and area when we first moved here.

It's an illusion of course (some might say a delusion), and one which I can't sustain for any great length of time, but perhaps the more I exercise the fantasy, the easier (and stronger) it will get.  Any Crivvies do anything similar in their quest to relive the 'atmosphere' of pleasant moments from the past?  Or did you let it escape years ago and never bother to try and recapture it?  The comments section awaits your input - if you're interested.

REFERENDUM? THAT'LL BE THE DAY!

Nothing new under the sun...

Copyright relevant owner

Regular reader T47 sent me some scans from a 1975 IPC publication concerning the Common Market.  As Brexit lingers in its final stage of negotiations, I thought they may be of interest to other Crivvies - so here they are.  Click on images to enlarge, then click again for optimum size.  (The third image enlarges only once, but once is enough.)  Comments welcome.

ADRIFT IN THE STRATOSPHERE...?

Adrift in pointlessness more like...

I've recommended a few books on the blog before now that are usually regarded as 'children's classics', the main reason for them inhabiting such a youthful category being that they contain no sex scenes, swearing, or gory descriptions of gratuitously-detailed violence.  However, they're gripping, exciting, imaginative, as well as extremely well-written, and no adult need ever hang their head in shame for admitting to enjoying them as grown-ups.  I'm talking about novels like Treasure Island, Moonfleet, The Ghosts, Tom's Midnight Garden, Kidnapped, The Hobbit, The Wind In The Willows, etc.

Then there are the others - books that are both juvenile in their scope and execution and that no one over 12 or 14 would surely ever admit to reading.

Such a book is Adrift In The Stratosphere by 'Professor' A.M. Low.  He wasn't entitled to call himself a professor as he didn't occupy any academic chair, but he was an inventor and ideas man, who would've been much more highly regarded in the scientific community had he followed his ideas through to the end, instead of others developing them due to his lack of commitment and resulting inability to bring them to fruition.

If you want to know more about him, click here, but it's the above-mentioned book I want to talk about today.  I remember sometime back in the late '60s my brother enthusing about Low's book, and I mentally made a note to read it someday.  That 'someday' didn't happen 'til many years later when I rediscovered the book in a box in the attic.  Oddly, although I can recall starting the book, I no longer remember finishing it, but that may be down to the fact that it just didn't live up to my brother's enthusiastic estimation of it.

Anyway, still got the book (still up in the loft I think), but because its dust-jacket disappeared many years back (in our previous house), not long ago I bought a dust-jacketed replacement from eBay.  My plan was to make a replica of the dust-jacket to adorn the original copy, but before that, I decided to re-read it.

Dearie me.  Bit of an ordeal.  It was first published in 1937 so perhaps I'm being uncharitable, but it's the kind of story written for kids as text episodes in the story papers (comics) of the '30s and '40s.  (Rover, Wizard, Hornet, Hotspur, etc.)  Just as with his inventions, he doesn't seem to follow through with aspects of the plot, either because he doesn't know where to take it or because he's too eager to get onto the next chapter and explore something else.

Or perhaps, despite being far from positive about the book, I'm giving him too much credit.  The story reads as if he's simply making it up as he goes along and hasn't really thought things through.  He has Martians subjecting the three main protagonists to various tribulations in their spaceship via long-range rays, with the intention of destroying them, when it would be much simpler to blast them out of existence with some Martian missiles.

At the end of it I was left wondering what the point of it all was.  It was unfulfilling and unsatisfying, and a bit of a waste of time to be honest.  Had I been a kid perhaps I would've thought much more of it, but I'm not totally convinced by the possibility.  My brother is obviously much more easily impressed than I am, but I'd say that, should you ever feel inclined to test its SF qualifications, you'd be better devoting your time to a Bleep And Booster Annual.

Verdict: One you can avoid, with no feelings of guilt or loss.

Anyone ever read it?  What did you think?    

PESTERED BY PUSHY PROMOTERS...?

Wish they'd give us all a break...
 

I don't know how you feel about this, fellow Crivvies (though most people I mention it to tend to agree with me), so have a read and then feel free to weigh in with your opinion.  Whenever I'm out shopping and see any of those temporary promotional stands with their attendant staff in my local shopping centre, I tend to hug the nearest wall or shop window, stare fixedly ahead (or into the window) and try and sneak by without getting pestered by some prowling sales agent trying to interest me in whatever he or she is flogging.  My view is that if I were interested in what they were punting, I'd approach them to ask for some info about it, but the second they try and give me the 'hard-sell', it puts me right off.

It's the same with door-to-door salesmen - or hawkers if you prefer.  Going around chapping doors to get someone to buy something is a sign of desperation in my view.  If your business is successful, then people will come to you, not the other way around.  To me, there's no more surefire sign that business is bad than when salesmen (or women) chap your door and try to flog you whatever goods or services they're offering.  And if business is bad (pre-Covid), then there's a reason for that - they're probably not very good at what they do.

But shopping centre hawkers are the worst.  They hail you from a distance even when your demeanour and attitude should be enough of a hint that you don't want to know.  They jump out in front of you, waving their arms, and try to impede your progress.  They interrupt you when you're in the middle of a conversation, either in person with someone or on your mobile, invading your personal space with no regard for your privacy.  Sure, you can just ignore them (and I do), but I don't like being placed in the position of being rude to someone, and then there's the surly muttering and barely whispered insults when you fail to acknowledge their existence.  Or there's the facetious and loud "Have a nice day", which you know really translates as "Hope you get hit by a bus!"

"Ach, they're only trying to make a living, give 'em a break!" you say.  No, they're also making a nuisance of themselves in the process.  The staff of WHS or BOOTS (or any other shop you care to name) don't stand in the doorway trying to entice you inside to buy anything, so why should these sales agents be allowed to prowl beyond the confines of their stands in a predatory fashion, targeting anyone within (or beyond) earshot?  Here's a scoop - they're not!

I'm advised that there are conditions under which these promotional units are supposed to operate.  Firstly, the staff are not permitted to stray too far from their base, and they're not supposed to raise their voices or jump in front of you to attract your attention.  Ideally, they're meant to remain in close proximity to their units and enquire in a normal voice of those who pass nearby whether they can interest them in their product or service.  What they shouldn't be doing is straying yards from their stands to intrude on shoppers on the far side of the mall.

The fact that they do suggests that they're either ignoring the conditions of their company's contract, or that shopping centre management are deliberately turning a blind eye, however much it results in your personal inconvenience as a shopper in having to run the gauntlet of pushy salesmen - sometimes every few yards.  Don't know about you, but I prefer to go shopping without having to participate in an obstacle course in the process.

Anyone got any thoughts on the matter?    

FANCY A FESTIVE POEM? TOO BAD - YOU'VE GOT ONE...

It's Only Once A Year...

                     So Christmastime's upon us once again
                     And all our hearts are filled with love and cheer.
                     We show goodwill towards our fellow men
                     But thank the stars it's only once a year.

                     We push our way through crowds and stand in queues
                     To find that 'special gift' for one held dear.
                     And some of us fall prey to 'Christmas blues'
                     So thank the stars it's only once a year.

                     We eat, drink and make merry to excess
                     And overdo things 'til we feel 'quite queer'.
                     We promise that next Christmas we'll spend less
                     And thank the stars it's only once a year.

                     And far above the raucous sounds of fun
                     God wishes Happy Birthday to His Son.

TWO NEW TRUE BELIEVERS FOR YOU...

Mighty Marvel Strikes Again...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Yet another couple of True Believers mags that I should've received weeks ago, but which only just arrived yesterday.  I bought the original FF ish of the one above sometime around the first half of 1983 in a newsagent's in Glasgow.  It was a few issues old, but I'd missed it when it first came out.  I was helping out a signwriter I knew that day and he expressed surprise that someone of my age was still buying comics.  Maybe he thought it was a comic for girls because of Sue Richards on the cover, but I didn't care.

Never had and don't have the original ish of the Spidey TB, but I doubtless read the story when it was reprinted in one of the UK weeklies so it'll be good to finally read it in colour.  Jumping back to the FF, I always liked the fact that John Byrne restored the thick black collars that the team had for around three issues back in the '60s as I always preferred them over the subsequent thinner versions.

Anyway, if you don't already have these beauties, you might want to consider adding them to your comics stash before the prices on the collectors' market escalates beyond what's reasonable.

RAINY REPOST: WINDOW On The PAST - TAKE TWO...

It's raining memories...

It's pouring of rain outside (well it is where I live), so I thought it an appropriate time to dust off this old post from 2017.  Even if you've read it before, you've probably forgotten it by now - so refresh your memory.

******

 

You're looking at my current screen-saver, which is a photo taken in 1991 from the bedroom of the house I'd moved from 19 years before.  I'd previously returned to the house 3 years earlier, which was the first time I'd been back since flitting in 1972, but on that occasion the day was sunnier.  However, there's something about rain which I find relaxing, and though the house across the back didn't have an extension when I lived in the area, the picture captures, mood-wise, exactly how it would've been on a similar day when I occupied the room.

The toys on the sill are mine, taken with me to 're-connect' them to the home in which I'd first obtained the originals.  The owl is from the Aurora BATMAN model kit, and was painted and affixed to the model when I finally assembled and painted the rest of it around 1993/'94.  (I'd obtained it in 1984/'85, as a replacement for the one I'd owned in the '60s.)  The photo below is taken from a slightly different angle, and you can glimpse my old primary school, which was demolished in 2014.  Houses now occupy the spot.

When these photos were taken, the original windows were still in use, though they were replaced around 1992 with new PVC-framed ones.  I'm glad to have got the chance to look through the same windows I'd known as a child, and see again my reflection staring back at me as it had done when I was a boy.  I wonder if the panes recognised the taller, older face that stood before them as the one it had once been familiar with - or was I just a stranger who meant nothing?  I'd like to think otherwise.

Click on the images to enlarge - then just relax as you look at the rain on the glass - just as I often do when I want to relive the past.  Remember, the droplets you see are 26 years old - so, in a sense, you're reliving the past too.  Just thought I'd share the moment with you.   

   

PSSST! WANNA SEE A PRETTY PICCIE?

Then cop a gander 'ere...

Copyright BBC TV and the Estate of TERRY NATION

Twenty-six years ago I wandered into my local branch of John Menzies (four years before it was taken over by WHS) and spied a magazine I simply had to have - The Dalek Chronicles, published by Marvel UK.  I bought three just to have spares, in case my selected reading copy ever became damaged by my incessant handling.  I loved poring over its pages and remembering rabidly devouring the strips when they first appeared on the rear cover of TV Century 21 back in the '60s.  Unfortunately, they got a page out of sequence, but that apart, it was a valiant attempt to make these strips available to a new audience, as well as to those who had read them as kids.

I've still got those three Specials, and even though I now also have a trio of Panini's recent deluxe re-presentation of the same material (though digitally restored and remastered, mostly from the original art boards), I won't be parting with my 1994 incarnations anytime soon.  (Or ever, in fact.)  Why?  Just one look at them takes me right back to 1994 in a heartbeat, that's why!  What I find hard to believe though, is the fact that more than a quarter of a century has elapsed between the two editions.  Cliched as it is to say, it seems like only yesterday since I purchased my three copies of the first, primitive (scanned from published issues of TV21) collected edition of those strips from childhood.

Now, I know I've bored you all to tears on multiple previous occasions, warbling on about the complexities and paradoxes of time, but it simply staggers my senses when it hits me just how many years have passed between now and when that first collection was published.  It's a mere three years shy of the same period of time since the debut instalment of The Daleks first appeared in 1965, and it's all gone by (spoiler alert - Gordie's catchphrase coming up now) faster than a fart from The Flash!  But that's not quite accurate when I think about it.  1965 seemed like quite a large span away from 1994 back then, but 1994 until now seems like no time at all.

Ach, I just can't get my head around it!  Sometimes, looking back today, the '60s seem like centuries away, sometimes much more recent than that.  How is such a thing possible?  Tell you what, while you're thinking about it (unless you just skipped past this post without reading it) feast your eager eyes on ace artist Ron Turner's wraparound cover to that 1994 sensational Special!  Click to enlarge, then click again for optimum size.

No, I don't really know what I meant to say with this post either, but who cares as long as it's accompanied by a pretty (and pulse-pounding) piccie like the one above?!  True, Ron's depiction of The Daleks isn't exactly accurate (then again, neither was the Marx Toys version), but it still has its own charm.     

IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE (OF IDEAS)?

A few... but this one's name is... Samson!

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

I should've received this particular issue of True Believers a few weeks back, but it only turned up yesterday (Friday), which is why I'm a bit late featuring it on the blog.  Well, this one surely doesn't need the hard-sell.  It's The Hulk, as depicted by Trimpe & Severin and written by Roy Thomas - and it introduces Doc Samson to the Mighty Marvel line-up.  If you haven't grabbed it already, don't hang around - it's a belter!

 

Below... my own original issue's cover to compare with the TB, which features the original at the back of the mag.

The CHRISTMAS BEANO...

Festive Fun For... Everyone?

Copyright D.C. THOMSON & Co., Ltd

I bought my 'first'* Christmas Beano back in 1978 (still got it too) - down in Southsea if I recall correctly, when I was best man at the wedding of a now long-jettisoned friend, who was 'sent off' the pal-pitch three years later for being a compulsive and outrageous liar.  (And having looked at his Facebook page a few years back, he still is.)  However, this post isn't about him you'll be glad to hear - no, it's about the Yuletide ish of last man standing (as far as long-running UK humour comics go) on the newsagents' shelves - The Beano.  (Yeah, I know it's just Beano now, but that was a pointless change, wasn't it?)

(*When I say 'first', I mean the first of what became a yearly purchase thereafter, though I may well have had a Christmas issue or two when I was a kid.)

So let's get to the point.  Professionally produced, does what it says on the tin, younger readers are bound to love it, but - to this old fart - it no longer seems like The Beano anymore.  Too many 'filler' pages (as I regard them) and ads, and despite being in full colour and printed on glossy paper, I prefer the way it used to be when it was printed on loo roll, with only four pages of colour and the rest being b&w or spot colour.  It just had more 'atmosphere' about it, though obviously I wouldn't want to apply that criteria to movies and have them all made in monochrome.

Anyway, if you consider yourself too old or too 'grown-up' to be buying The Beano, your kids, nieces or nephews are sure to appreciate it if you spring for a copy for them.  As usual, it comes with a load of ol' tat and costs £4.99, but I had to have it as I've bought every Festive number since 1978.  (As far as I remember; must check to see if I inadvertently missed one.)  This is the last Beano 'til sometime in the New Year, so you can either fork out almost a fiver, or nip around to Home Bargains and see if they have any of the 2021 Annuals left for a mere £2.99.

Below is the pack to look for if you prefer to buy the comic, though obviously it's not a case of one or the other as, finances permitting, you're allowed to purchase both.

POIGNANT POST For POETRY LOVERS...

 I'll See You In The Morning...

Like poems?  Maybe you'll like this one.

Hankies at the ready, three, two, one - go.

                         I'll See You In The Morning.

                         And so to bed my little lad, I'll see you in the morning,

                         there's new adventures to be had with each new day aborning.

                         Though not for me alas, my son; my days on Earth are fading,

                         the doctor says I'm nearly done and Death comes 'serenading'.

        

                         I'll not be here to watch you grow in each new bright tomorrow,

                         I must confess I'm feeling low and in the grip of sorrow.

                         I won't be here to hold your hand each time you trip and stumble,

                         though not exactly what I planned it does no good to grumble.

                         I stand and watch you as you sleep and nearly cry a river,

                         you've given me a joy so deep, but now I feel a shiver.

                         My time is short, but I'll give thanks as long as I am able,

                         though soon enough I'll join the ranks of 'one short at the table'.

                         So many things I want to say before I have to leave you,

                         it's not my fault I cannot stay, but you'll have mum to cleave to.

                         Be strong for her my little man, she'll need you in her sadness,

                         give mummy all the help you can and be a source of gladness.

                         Perhaps in time she'll wed again; if so my little laddie,

                         should that occasion happen, then please don't forget your daddy.

                         I'll keep an eye out from above, I'll see your joys and sorrows,

                         you'll always have your daddy's love throughout all your tomorrows.

                         Goodnight to you my little lad, I'll see you when you waken,

                         and I will always be your dad - you will not be forsaken.

                         I've stood and watched you for a week since I learned I was dying,

                         each night I've stooped and stroked your cheek and couldn't keep from

                         crying.

                         Tomorrow I will play a game - pretend that I'm immortal;

                         that things will always be the same and I won't pass Death's portal.

                         So rest your head my little lad, I'll see you in the morning,

                         a bit more time to know your dad - another day's aborning.

RICHARD CORBEN - R.I.P.

 Quoth the Raven... "Nevermore!"

Copyright relevant owner

One of my favourite poems is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, and here's an interesting take on this rhyming masterpiece, illustrated by Richard Corben and first published in Creepy #67, December 1974.  Sadly, Richard died today, so I thought I'd re-post this strip in tribute to his amazing talent.

And below is the cover (not by Corben) for all you completists.

JAMAICA? NO, SHE WENT OF HER OWN ACCORD...

Or: A Winter's Tale...

Suddenly October by Les Lambson

You may recall me mentioning in this post a while back about one of my old classmates putting the house that he and his family moved into around 55 years ago up for sale a few months back.  Well, the house is now sold, and I managed to visit another three times since last Friday, the final such occasion being on Monday when it legally became the property of the new owners.  My pal lives down in England, so I'd been going up to his empty house here in Scotland to turn the heating on every so often, but he came up on Thursday to remove the remnants of whatever possessions of his still remained, and I was present on his last afternoon there (December 7th) when he crossed the threshold on his way out for the final time.  (As did I.)

Strangely, I'm probably more affected than he is by this 'ending of an era', as he's lived in Gloucester for around the last 20 years with his wife and son, and - occasional stays with his mother and father aside - hasn't actually lived in the house for any lengthy duration since his 20s or thereabouts, having bought it for his parents around the early '90s.  I was in the house once in around 1969 and maybe two or three times in the late '80s and early '90s, but I've now been in it so often over the last few months since April (my pal was up intermittently, getting it ready to sell) that I've now lost count.  The fact that my last visit to the house was also his means we closed that particular 55 year chapter in our lives simultaneously.  ('Physically' that is; mentally, I suspect he closed it - though leaving it partially ajar perhaps - many years back.)

I've known him since 1965, and although we didn't really hang about together as kids or teenagers (though we'd chat briefly whenever we ran into one another), we became reacquainted around the mid-'80s when he gave me his copy of an old class photograph I'd once owned but had lost in the intervening years.  Although I'm sure he's a little sad to see one door to his past closed forever, he's not one to dwell on things and will doubtless be too busy continuing the 'new' life he's been living for many a long year now to be much troubled by 'what was'.

I'm a different bag of spiders though, and, selfishly, I tended to view his house as a 'connection' to my own childhood, so not being able to enter its interiors again feels like I can no longer access a portal to a cherished period of my past which has now slipped further beyond my reach, except, of course, in memory.  (It was a way of returning to 1969 you see, and everything in my life at the time that went with it.)  Don't get me wrong - memories are great things, but to also have a tangible 'entry point' into the past is even better.

I was once given a book containing the letters of C.S. Lewis and one (or maybe two) of his pals.  One of their friends had died, but the others continued to visit his mother in her old house they'd known since they were kids.  When the mother eventually passed away, the thought of never being able to visit the house again was probably the thing that most grieved them.  It represented their youth, you see, and now that aspect of it was forever denied them.  That's a bit like how I feel now.  Anyone else ever felt the same?

What's that?  The title?  Jamaica is part of the street name.  Makes sense now, eh?  And in case you were wondering, the picture at the top of the post is one that hung in the hall of my pal's house for many a year.  I snapped a photo of it on the last day as he wasn't taking it with him.  Shame, really, as it'll probably be junked.  Still, at least it lives on in this post.  However, it's so faded that I thought it was a winter scene, but it's actually an autumn one.  It should look more like the version below, culled from the Internet.

WHEN MARVEL WAS A MIGHTY WORLD...

I was a much younger lad...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Sometimes the hardest part of a new post is coming up with an interesting or intriguing title, which is not always an easy thing to achieve.  That's why I occasionally settle for 'vaguely coherent' instead.  Anyway, as you'll have noticed, I haven't been too active on the blog recently, mostly down to being hugely fatigued over the last wee while.  However, I can't allow that to deprive you panting Crivvies of what meagre joy you have in your lives, so at great cost to my energy levels I've cooked up this little piece for your exclusive reading pleasure.

 

Back in the mid-'70s, it seemed that Marvel was getting a fair bit of attention in the media, and so they decided to share their turn in the spotlight with readers of their flagship title, The Mighty World Of Marvel.  I've decided to do the same with readers of Crivens, so here, in reverse order, is a trio of pages (followed by their covers) from a time when MWOM ruled the newsagents' shelves of Great Britain.  To see the images in all their glory, click once to enlarge, then click again for optimum size.  Enjoy!

  

DID YOU MISS The DALEKS SPECIAL?

Well, don't despair...

Copyright BBC TV and the Estate of TERRY NATION

I managed to obtain several copies, though it cost me around £25 in train and taxi fares travelling to different locations to collect them from friends who I'd asked to buy them on my behalf.  (I was also lucky enough to get some via mail order, as well as from my local newsagent's, but those ones are mine.)

I could be persuaded to part with a few, but the price would be £18 each, which includes the cover price of the mag (£9.99), plus p&p (which'll cost close to a fiver for recorded delivery, I reckon), plus a little extra to recoup part of my travel expenses when I collected them - I'm not including any new expenses in taking them to the Post Office.  (Yeah, I know - Panini didn't charge p&p [except for next day delivery], but they can absorb the cost better than I can, and they presumably make a bigger profit from online sales as there's no percentage to newsagents.)

Honest, at the end of the day I'll be fortunate to break even, or any 'profit' will be so minuscule as not to be worth the effort, so I'm hardly 'profiteering'.  Anyway, as I said, the only reason I ended up with several was because I asked different people I know to grab a copy if they saw it in case I didn't, as it didn't turn up in my local WHS until recently.  Once they'd bought them (at my request) I felt honour-bound to take them, as I would never renege just because I managed to get copies myself.

Anyway, I don't mind keeping them, and I'd advise checking your local shops first just in case they've now got some in and you can purchase them for cover price, but if not, it's first come, first served if you'd like one of my spare copies.  (UK only I'm afraid, unless you're prepared to pay whatever it costs to post abroad.)  As I say, I'm not out to make money, but neither do I want to lose any.  My main motivation is simply to help you acquire this great publication if you haven't managed to find one for yourself yet - it's a belter!

You can let me know if you're interested - or not, as the case may be.

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Update: Just a reminder to check with Panini first, as they may now have some spare copies to sell at cover price.

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Another update:  Offer now ended.