HOW LONG IS A PIECE OF LIFE...?

If we were to equate our lives to movies, when reviewing them in retrospect many years later, it would probably seem to us that there were quite a goodly number of 'jump-cuts' scattered throughout.  That's because (as I've said elsewhere before), we tend to compartmentalize events in our lives into separate segments long after the fact, rather than view them all as the one unravelling ball of string that they appeared to be at the time.

In fact, as they're happening, different periods in our lives tend to 'dissolve' into one another (segue) in a seamless fashion, without us really being aware that we're transitioning from one 'era' into the next.  As a daft example, I was living in one house when the first 42 or 43 issues of TV CENTURY 21 were published, and because the comic made a huge impression on me, I tend to associate it mainly with that house.

However, there were another 199 or 200 issues that came out while I was living in the next house, but I tend to associate that domicile more with periodicals like WHAM!, SMASH!, POW!, FANTASTIC, TERRIFIC, LION, TIGER, BUSTER, VALIANT, WHIZZER & CHIPS, COR!!, SUPER DC, THUNDER, JET, KNOCKOUT, COUNTDOWN/TV ACTION, etc., than I do with TV21.  Which is odd when you think about it, because TV21 ran for another four years (and that's not counting the relaunched, non-GERRY ANDERSON issues) during my time in that new house, and was predominant in the first several months of my time there.  

We do the same with our schooldays, separating our primary and secondary schooldays with what seems like a sharp line, whereas they're really less well-defined than that.  One day we're at primary school then we're into the summer holidays, then we're at secondary school, and it occurs seamlessly as it happens, but then feels partitioned by a huge gulf when we reminisce decades later.

I've always found that curious and I wonder why we (unwittingly) do it.  Is it just a trick of the mind or could there be a logical reason for it?  Thoughts or theories anyone?  (Assuming I've expressed myself coherently.)

GO AHEAD, CALLER - MAKE MY DAY...

Copyright relevant owner

Here's a tale I alluded to quite some time back, saying that one day I'd eventually get around to telling it.  Well, that day is finally upon us.  I should probably keep it to myself, but what the hell - it'll fill some space and hopefully amuse you.  First of all though, it behoves me to give you a little background detail so that you more fully understand the event I'm about to relate.

My father's family were from the East End of Glasgow and my mother's family were from a then-posh (relatively-speaking) area of Rutherglen.  As the hybrid offspring of two different 'classes', it seemed to me that my brother and myself were considered socially inferior by my mother's relations, and the objects of inverted snobbery by my father's clan.  Less so my brother, due to his ingratiating nature and being more socially adept than I, and, later, being a mechanic and therefore a tradesman whose good side was worth cultivating in the event of car breakdowns.

My interests in toys, comics, and doodling didn't lend themselves to being so readily exploited however, and thus cast me in the 'less useful to know' category.  Add to that the events recounted here and it seems obvious why my father's immediate family regarded me with a certain amount of antipathy, whereas my mother's relatives were largely indifferent to me.  Their attitude probably wasn't helped my my father's tendency to tell everyone that when I was born the hospital had "thrown the wrong bit away" (a joke I assume, but who knows?), and it was always obvious to me from an early age that my brother - the firstborn - was the favoured son.

What makes me think that?  He always had more money spent on him when we were young, and most of my clothes were his hand-me-downs.  Also, in my teens, I once found in a cupboard at least half-a-dozen copies (maybe more) of the Rutherglen Reformer containing his birth notice, but none containing mine.  When I enquired of my mother about it, a couple of days later she produced a scrap of paper containing the announcement of my birth.  No multiple complete copies preserved for posterity in my case, only a scrap torn from the newspaper as though it had been an afterthought.

Anyway, in the fullness of time I achieved modest success as a comics calligrapher, and one day decided to invest in an answering machine as my parents often forgot to pass on messages and had difficulty understanding the English accents of editors at IPC and Marvel 'phoning me about work.  I later got a pal who did a pretty passable imitation of Clint Eastwood to say something like "This is Inspector Harry Callahan... leave a message after the beep.  Go on, make my day!"  I didn't think this would be considered at all odd, as comedy answer-tapes were all the rage at the time, and it lent an element of humour to leaving a message.

However, whereas younger people readily participated in the procedure, older folk tended to regard such things as "vulgar" (one insurance agent even left a message saying so), and my father's siblings, who were never the sharpest tools in the box anyway, took umbrage at its installation as if it was an affront to all that was normal or decent - emphasis on normal.  The volume was always left up so that my parents could hear when a call was for them, and calls for me were recorded when I was unavailable.  On the latter occasions my folks no doubt listened intently, trying (and failing) to decipher the 'exotic, alien' tones emanating from the speaker.

Eventually, I took over the number for myself and my parents got another one, resulting in us having separate telephones, but before that happened, two of my father's sisters (my aunts) 'phoned one day to speak to my mother.  I happened to hear the message later and they were scathing about me, saying that I needed "looked up" for having someone called "Inspector Kelly" (yeah, their hearing obviously wasn't very sharp either) answer their call.  "Tell Inspector Kelly that this is the Pink Panther!" said one in a voice loaded with contempt and sarcasm, and when my mother answered (having recognized the voice), they cast doubts on my sanity to her 'til they were good and through.

And then they made a mistake.  When the call was finished and my mother had replaced the receiver, they didn't, and the machine continued to record the conversation between themselves, all of which was a vicious, malicious, and slanderous attack on me.  (As they spoke, I could hear one of them pressing the numbers to make another call, but as she hadn't hung up, her attempts were in vain.)  At this point, I should perhaps mention that I have absolutely no criminal record of any kind (not counting Charlie Drake's 'My Boomerang Won't Come Back'), and, as far as I'm aware, have never been the subject of any official suspicion regarding my character, behaviour, or morality.  (I've only been in court once in my life, and that was an appearance I requested, but that's a story for another day.)

Now, around this time (early '90s), it had recently been reported in my local newspaper that someone was 'phoning people at home, pretending to be either a doctor or some kind of medical researcher, and asking them personal questions.  I no longer recall the exact details (I'd only glanced at the story), but I assume they were of a sexual nature.  Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard one aunt say, in regard to myself, "I bet it's that bastard who's been 'phoning people, pretending to be a doctor."  The other aunt agreed, and there was more effin' and blindin' between the two, with me as the target.  It ran for some minutes.

As you can imagine, I was stunned (and angry - still am to this day) by the enormous jump from being the owner of an answering machine to being a telephone pervert, but it left me in no doubt as to what they thought of me.  (And I should emphasize that there was [and is] nothing in my history which would warrant such an assertion - I'm squeaky clean.)  I played the tape to my parents, my father evincing shock more at their bad language than their assassination of my character ("I never knew my sisters swore like that!" he said), but they both went over to see the offending pair and upbraid them for their 'earthy' utterances and unfounded and frightful assessment of my good self.   

A couple of weeks later, one aunt had the cheek to drop in for a visit as if nothing had happened, but I was having none of it and duly informed her that she wasn't welcome and to leave at once and never come back.  (Well, do you blame me?)  And she never did.  I later played the tape to the pal who'd voiced the answer-message and he described it as being akin to a 'piece of theatre'.  I suppose he thought it sounded like something that belonged in 'The Steamie' (though there was no singing).

Over the years I was often featured in the local newspaper regarding my comics career, with photos of me with Stan Lee and Bob Hope (separately), and I even appeared on a couple of TV shows in connection with my vast array of toy collectables.  'Fame' of course is fleeting (even extremely minor fame of the kind I experienced), but it's enough to turn some people's heads.  A group of my father's family (containing the same two aunts) were sitting at a table in the local Bingo Hall one day (around 20 years ago), when I popped in to use the toilet.  (I was looking after someone's stall just below the hall.)  On my way out, they all started waving and beckoning to me, but I simply ignored them and continued on my way.

Well, like I said - do you blame me?  Things might've been different had they the decency to apologize not long after their transgression, but it was all too obvious that, years later, they were merely wanting to bathe in the reflection of my local, limited, minor and momentary 'celebrity' status - but I was having none of it.

So tell me, Criv-ites - what would you have done?  Forgiven and forgotten?  Or would you have reacted the same as me?  Feel free to contribute in our free-to-enter comments section.  And if anything similar has ever happened to you and you wish to share, then I'm here to listen.  (Or read, to be precise.)  Go on - make my day!

(BOND) BABE Of The DAY - CAROLINE MUNRO...

Face it, Crivs, if you'd a wife or girlfriend as

stunning as CAROLINE MUNRO, you'd never

want to leave your house, would you?!  Except to go

out for flowers and chocs to bribe her not to go out

either.   'Cos there'd be no point staying in if she

weren't there with you, would there?

MIGHTY MARVEL MISTAKES...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Look at the above panel from X-MEN #11, in which SCOTT SUMMERS (alias CYCLOPS) gets his ruby quartz glasses pulled off and his power beam seems to be beyond his control - even with his eyes tightly shut.  Yet a few pages later (panel below), there he is apparently able to control his beam to a hairsbreadth without his glasses or visor on.

And as we can see in issue #14 (below), he can actually keep his beam under control with his eyes closed (and not that tightly either).  Hey, MARVEL - pick one and stick with it, willya?!

WERNER ROTH (under the pen name of JAY GAVIN) was pencilling over JACK KIRBY layouts in the above tier, but who was responsible for Cyclops extra-long nose - was it Roth or Kirby?  Whad'ya think, frantic ones?

(BOND) BABE Of The DAY - ALEXANDRA BASTEDO...

"Look, luv," I said to foxy babe ALEXANDRA

BASTEDO, "there's no point draping yourself across

the bed in that alluring fashion and gazing at me in that

seductive manner - I just have to finish bagging all my

POPEYE comics and that's an end to it!"  (And no,

'bagging my Popeye comics' isn't a euphemism.)

IT'S CURTAINS FOR THIS POST...

You'll no doubt find this a strange one.  Yes, I'm afraid it's yet another entirely self-indulgent post, so feel free to skip it if such features are usually more than you can bear.

When I lived in the previous house to the one in which I now reside (the first previous house, not the second - regulars will understand), my bedroom window was in the wall behind my bed's headboard.  (As was my brother's on the other side of the room.)  In my next (and current) house (in which I had/have a room of my own), the window was in the wall beside the left-hand side of my bed.  However, despite the difference, because of the varied ways people tend to lie in repose (myself included), when I was in bed, the curtained window always captured my attention in either house, and often seemed to be the dominant feature.

For instance, if the window's at the back of the bed and you're lying on your side, it's in your field of vision, and if the window is at the side of the bed and your lying on your back, it's still in your field of vision.  And because, in the mornings, with the light seeping through the curtains or blinds, it's pretty prominent and tends to capture your attention.  In fact, regardless of whether you're lying on your side or your back, you can still see the window in either scenario depending on which way your head is 'pointing'.  Which is probably an extremely convoluted way of setting up what I'm about to say next.  Which is...

Because of the situation I've just gone to great pains (yours, I'm afraid) to describe, there was a continuity between the two rooms which helped ease me into adjusting to my new environs.  In fact, nowadays, when casting my mind back to when I read certain books and comics in bed over the years, I sometimes have to think about exactly which house I was in at the time, because it almost seems like the same bedroom in nearly every instance - due, mainly, to the window and curtains being uppermost in my recollections. 

Basically, what I'm trying to say (and doing so clumsily) is that, in memory, the two rooms often almost seem like the same one, which, ultimately, I'm thankful for, because if the difference between the two had been jarring, I might not have settled in so smoothly when I first moved here in 1972.  Waking in the mornings and seeing the daylight breaking through the curtains offers a sense of familiarity in new surroundings, which can be a comforting thing, whether one is consciously aware of it at the time or not.

So what's that got to do with anything?  Nothing much really, but my mind was mulling it over and I thought I'd share it with you here.  (Hey, you've gotta take the bad as well as the good you know.)  So if this strikes a chord with anyone, and you can relate to it (however tenuously), feel free to comment so that I don't think I'm the only inmate in the asylum.  (Now if only they'd remove these tie-at-the-back, long-sleeved pyjamas, I might get a better sleep.) 

A RAMBLING REMINISCENCE...

Nah, this isn't it, but it's vaguely similar

Here's a true tale of something that happened around 34 or 35 years ago that I've suddenly just remembered.  I was walking home one evening, along a route that took me past a school, when I suddenly noticed that the bottom glass panel of a door had been kicked in.  I was all for passing on, when curiosity got the better of me.  Perhaps someone had broken the pane to gain access, and maybe they were still inside.  If so, they'd be bound to be teenagers, and I was then strong, fit, and confident that I could look after myself - even against more than one person.  (Maybe one day I'll relate a couple of events that demonstrate I'm not just confusing ambition with ability.  Hark - is that John Williams' SUPERMAN theme I hear?)

Anyway, I walked over to the door and crouched down at the aperture, listening to hear if I could detect any sounds of activity from within, but there was nothing.  I decided to call the police when I got home and alert them to the vandalism, assuming that they'd check to see if anyone was on the premises.  Thing is, by the time I got home, I was so lost in thought that I took the dog out for a walk and forgot all about it, and never did call the local constabulary.  When I eventually remembered a couple of days later, I figured it was too late to bother and that the door would have had at least a temporary repair effected by then anyway.

Cut to quite a while later.  I no longer recall whether it was weeks or months afterwards, but I know it wasn't in the immediate aftermath.  As I was again walking home one night, I heard one of two or three passing boys say to the other(s) "That's the guy who broke into the school!"*  It was a mumble, and at first I had to think whether I'd heard right, but that's what it sounded like.  Of course, by then, I'd completely forgotten about the broken panel, and it took me a while to work out what the boy could've been referring to.  (Which is why I know it wasn't any time soon after the event.)  Then it hit me - the boy must have seen me (from some hidden vantage point) crouching beside the door, listening, and assumed I'd been the culprit.

I fully expected a chap at my door at some stage after that, but nothing ever came of it.  It bothered me though (still does in fact) to discover that I was viewed as the perpetrator of the very crime I'd intended to report, but didn't.  These boys will be all grown up by now with wives and kids of their own, and I can't help but wonder if they still remember me and consider me a vandal or a burglar.  The school seemed to be a regular target for neds, as some years later it fell victim to arson, sadly necessitating its demolition and the construction of a new building in its place.  The new edifice was more like a fortress than a school, but given its history, is it any wonder?

Anyway, this has been a rambling reminiscence - I hope you found it worth your while to read.

******

*There's another possibility of course.  It now occurs to me that the boy might've said "That's the guy from when we broke into the school!", meaning that they were the perpetrators and had seen me crouched at the door, or had seen me through a window walking away.  I'd really only heard the key words... 'guy - broke into - school'... and filled in the blanks to make sense of it, so I could've got it wrong.  

A TOUCH OF VELVET...

JIM REEVES was known as the man with the velvet voice - Mr. Velvet they called him (as well as Gentleman Jim).  Today I received the above CD album from PICKWICK for a mere £2.99, free p&p, even though I already have the album on vinyl (twice, with different covers) and two different 'omnibus' CD sets.  Then why buy it again?  Well, on the other CDs it's one of two albums on the same CD in one instance, and one of four albums (on two CDs) in the other.

However, on one of those releases, the tracks have been remastered and the backing singers sound fainter, compromising the overall effect.  Thankfully, my latest acquisition sounds just as it ought to, and it's good to have the album on an individual CD and to see the cover on its own, as opposed to sharing space with others.

Looking at the cover, I'd guess that the album was originally going to be called WELCOME To My WORLD, given Jim's pose (arms outstretched in welcome), and an EP single was released under that name with a cropped version of the same photo, which lends some credence to my speculation.  (I've now added the EP cover, above.)  It's a cracking album, and shows that Jim was more than just a country singer.  You should take a look at www.pickwickgroup.com because they have loads of classic albums by various artistes at unbelievable prices - all brand-new and waiting to become a part of your collection.  Pay it a visit today.

Before you do that though, Crivvies, have a listen to Jim's wonderful rendition of the classic standard, BLUE SKIES - absolutely brilliant.

(BOND) BABE Of The DAY - MADELINE SMITH...

Curvaceous MADELINE SMITH

has eyes to die for.  And the rest of her ain't

too shabby either.  I suppose it must be cold

where she is, 'cos there's a hint of  a nip in

 the air.  (Oh, I am awful, but I like me.)

MIGHTY MARVEL CHECKLIST - ON SALE MAY 30TH...

ESSENTIAL X-MEN #15

Copyright MARVEL COMICS.  Published by PANINI

100-page special!

The X-Men go searching for an old friend – but they might not like what they find! Don't miss a shocking new saga: ‘Phoenix Resurrection’!  By Matthew Rosen-berg & Leinil Francis Yu!

Featuring material first published in Astonishing X-Men #10-12 and Phoenix Resurrection #1-2.

On sale 30^th May.

£4.99.

 ******

 DEADPOOL UNLEASHED #1

100-page special!

A new volume begins!  A terrifying alien menace appears, and the Avengers are helpless to defeat it!  Earth's only hope is... Deadpool?!  By Scottie Young & Nic Klein!

Also!  Have you ever wanted to be Deadpool?  Now's your chance in a wild new inter-active game: ‘You Are Deadpool’!  By Al Ewing & Salva Espin!

Featuring material first published in Deadpool #1-3 and You Are Deapool #1.

On sale 30^th May.

£4.99.

 ******

MIGHTY WORLD OF MARVEL #16

Three awesome stories from the Marvel Universe!

Captain Marvel discovers her true heritage when her mother's secret is exposed! By Margaret Stohl & Carlos Pacheco!

Warlock confronts Kang, and learns of a dark threat to the universe!  By Gerry Duggan & Michael Alred!

Viv Vision faces the Champions' judgment, and makes a shocking decision!  By Mark Waid & Humberto Ramos!

Featuring material first published in Life of Captain Marvel #4, Champions #18 and Infinity Countdown: Warlock #1.

On sale 30^th May.

£4.99.

CHANCER, CROOK, CON-MAN, OR FOOL... WHAT SAY YE ALL...?

SUPERMAN copyright DC COMICS

Just what is it about eBay that attracts so many chancers, crooks, and con-men?  (Or maybe just idiots.)  Take a look at the above comic by a seller called mrskear.  Hardly pristine, is it?  Yet he or she was asking £50 for it the other day.  No, I didn't mistype.  Picked yourself up off the floor yet?  The original US comic that this UK issue is reprinted from isn't even worth anywhere near that.  (MAN Of STEEL #1, currently selling on ebay for as little as £3.21.)

I messaged the seller to say so in an attempt to be helpful, in case they were simply uninformed and just assumed that any SUPERMAN comic with #1 on it must be worth a bundle.  I thought they'd appreciate knowing that they were risking their credibility by asking a price like that.   They didn't respond to my message, but upped their price to £70 - and removed the option to message them.  That's right - £70 for a tatty, creased, and worn comic.

Someone else is currently selling a better condition copy for £14.99, so I can only assume that the first seller is simply chancing their arm in the hope that someone is stupid enough to pay that kind of crazy price.  What a cheeky chancer, eh?  And eBay has far too many dodgy sellers like this.  Sure, no one is being forced to buy it, but this mercenary impertinence offends me.  How about you?

******

Oops!  I originally typed that the seller's original asking price was £55, but having just checked, I see it was actually £50.  I've therefore amended it above.  However, that means it jumped up £20, not £15.  Perhaps the seller interpreted my message as revealing an interest, eh?  However, I've already got two copies of this comic, purchased back in 1988.

PERPETUATING The PAST...

When you have a blog, you need things to write about, and such a requirement sometimes leads to writing things about yourself that you otherwise wouldn't reveal to other people.  That's what I'm about to do now, but fear not, it's not something I could ever be blackmailed over.  (Besides, I bought and burned the negatives of that little escapade with the hamster, so I should be safe - unless duplicates exist.)

No, I'm going to let you into a little secret about an odd compulsion I have.  You see, when I re-acquire an item I had in childhood, I often feel compelled to 'reconnect' it to the area where I lived at the time.  For example, when I revisited a former house of mine 19 years after flitting, I took along various replacements of items I'd originally owned when I lived there.

On that occasion I was accompanied by a Corgi Batmobile and Aston Martin DB5, the glow-in-the-dark head from the Aurora Frankenstein model kit, the owl from the Aurora Batman model kit, a Marx Dalek, Fantastic #1, Terrific #1, and a couple of books.  They were ensconced in my original black leather schoolbag, purchased while living in that very house around 1970 or '71.  What's more, it was on that very day (in 1991) that I recovered my Tonibell Miniball from the attic, where I'd inadvertently left it all those years before.

I did the same thing when I obtained a replacement for my Tomy wind-up Robot several years back.  On that occasion, I didn't have access to my former abode, but I walked across a stretch of grass (with robot in pocket) where a pal of mine had found the front half of the same type of robot, and which is where I first became aware that the toy existed.  (It wouldn't have been too long after that I bought the first of my two or three robots of the same make, but not all at the same time.)

More recently, I took a walk along to that same neighbourhood with my Kellogg's Thunderbirds 2 & 4 toys, the originals of which I owned in the '60s.  Just having them in the same place where I played with their twins as a lad holds an odd significance for me and it's difficult to resist indulging myself.  It's like revisiting the past in a way that's almost tangible, and there's quite a number of items I've taken with me on such sojourns over the years, something which I'll probably continue doing for some time to come.

The photo that kicks of this post was taken around 31 years ago, and most of the trees you see in the middle of the picture survive only as stumps these days.  (As I saw on my recent visit.)  On the right (from our point of view), there's a tree that grows into a sort of 'Y' shape, and where it separates, there was a little flat circular area which some mud had settled into.  Back in the 60s, when playing with my Marx Twistable Batman, I stood him on that area and imprinted the soles and heels of his boots into the surface.

You're way ahead of me, aren't you?  Yes, when I obtained a replacement for that Batman figure back around the early or mid-'90s, I took it along to my old neighbourhood and stood it in the very same spot - just to reconnect to that moment all those years before, and to 're-establish' the connection in my mind between Batman and that tree.  So the tree is now gone, but the Batman figure in my collection once occupied the same spot as his predecessor, thereby perpetuating that moment from long-ago beyond its own time.

Anyway, I could give you example after example, but I doubt that you need any more convincing that I'm utterly bonkers.  In a sweet and loveable, harmless way of course.  Anyone else ever done this who isn't embarrassed to admit it?  Then it's therapy session time - reveal all in our comments section.  You'll feel better for it, honestly.  Oops, gotta go - here comes the nurse with my medication.

THE DANDY SUMMER SPECIAL...

Copyright D.C. THOMSON & Co., Ltd

Maybe I'm out of touch, but it seems to me that seven quid (okay, £6.99) for a comic magazine is a bit steep.  The adult part of me doesn't think that, but the child-like part does.  Yet I suppose that, with comics not selling as many as they used to in days of yore, the dwindling readership has to pay a higher price to keep their favourite titles going.  Which brings us nicely to this year's The DANDY Summer Special (which is listed as Dandy Yearbook on the receipt).

Actually, it's a little belter, with loads of reprints of earlier strips, from 1964 right up until 2004, though it's the older material which makes this publication worth having.  I took a quick look at The BEANO Summer Fun & Activity Special (or whatever it's called), but I was less impressed with that, as I regard the 'activity' pages as mere filler (so won't be buying it).

If you can only afford one Summer Special this year, I'd say that The Dandy is the one to go for, so get straight 'round to WH SMITH's now and plonk down your pennies to pay for it.  (All 699 of them.)  Remember when Summer Specials cost only 2/6d ?  Oh, for those days again.  Hardly likely though, eh?

THE TWO JIMS - REEVES & DEAN...

As I type this, I haven't even watched the above clip - it's JIM REEVES on the JIMMY DEAN show.  Jimmy Dean played WILLARD WHYTE in the JAMES BOND movie DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER.  He's probably best known for that, as well as the song BIG BAD JOHN.  Jim Reeves, of course, is best known as the finest balladeer of the 20th century.  (Well, he is in my house.)  Okay, let's watch the clip together.

******

Having now watched it and refreshed my memory, I've shown the first part of this (Jim singing WELCOME TO MY WORLD) on the blog before, but not the complete clip.  Still, what a voice though, eh?

BABE Of The DAY - LYNDA CARTER...

Sensational stunner LYNDA CARTER

gazes off into the distance, scanning the far

horizon in anticipation of my approach.  Yes,

even the wondrous WONDER WOMAN is

in thrall to my manly-man machismo - and

 who on Earth can blame her?

YOU'LL NEVER TOP THIS...

It's 1963 - perhaps.  Around about then anyway.  Maybe it was '62 or nudging into '64, but let's say '63 just to keep things simple.  My family (consisting of mater and pater, sibling and myself) were en route to my maternal grandparents' house in Hamilton Road in Rutherglen.  We visited them every Sunday right up until I left school and started working, whereupon it was decided that my obligations as a grandchild had been fulfilled and I was freed from this weekly chore (as it seemed at the time).  In '65, my grandparents (who I later referred to as Grunt and Grumpy - yes, I was a charmer, wasn't I?) had moved to my home town, but until then, whenever we visited them in Rutherglen, we passed through Gallowflat Street, stopping to look in the window of a now fondly-recalled shop named Johnny's, which always had a fascinating array of toys on display.

Just around the corner on the other side of the road was another little newsagent's, and one Sunday, my father bought my brother and me two old-fashioned wooden tops.  Why?  The shop was open (not many were on Sundays past one o'clock in those days) and they were inexpensive, and perhaps my father had owned a similar-type top in his youth and wanted us to experience the fun that came from such simple, non-battery operated pleasures.  We had these tops for years and I could never get them to work.  Each top came with a stick with a strip of square leather attached, which was wrapped around the top and then pulled quickly to propel the top into spinning motion.  Well, at least that's what was supposed to happen.  Interestingly (or perhaps not), I was in that same newsagent's (now under different owners) a few weeks ago, for only the second time in 54 years, the first visit back being around 17 years ago . 

Anyway, jumping ahead to the late '60s ('67 or '68) and the occasion of my birthday, I visited my local town centre and bought three things (from Woolworth's if I remember correctly) with my birthday money: A Ping-Pong set, a Matchbox Volkswagen 1600 TL - and another two of those same tops we'd had more than half my life before.  In fact, I may still have had the first two tops, but you know what it's like when it's your birthday and you have money to spend - you spend it, and not always on things you need or even particularly want.  Say what you like, but there's a pleasure to be had in spending money merely for the sake of it, and that may be what I did on that day.  That second set of tops remained in my possession for many years right into adulthood, and when we flitted back to this house in 1987 (regular readers know the story), I was under the impression that I still had them (I know I did before returning), but I've never been able to find them.  Perhaps they're up in the loft (attic) in one of the many boxes somewhere, but if so, their precise location remains undiscovered.  (I live in hope.)

So, I recently purchased two replacement tops on eBay, just to be able to enjoy the warm familiarity of their presence and relive the memories associated with both sets of tops in my far-away childhood.  It's an indulgence I know, but one I find pleasure and comfort in, and you surely wouldn't grudge me such a thing in the latter stages of my sojourn on this spinning globe we all call home.  If only I'd been able to make these childhood tops spin in a similar fashion, I'd have been a happy lad, but the adult I now am will be satisfied just to gaze on their doppelgangers and remember the world of yesteryear, when I was just starting out on what is now an all-too rapidly diminishing journey.  (Hey, I think that 'spinning' analogy is a pretty good one, contrived or not.)

Is there such a toy from your childhood that you'd like to be reunited with (even if it's only a replacement) to better reconnect with those halcyon days?  Or have you already done so and derived great happiness from it?  If so, why not share the tale with your fellow Criv-ites in our hungry-for-input comments section?  Go on - spread the joy! 

The DEFENDERS COVER & SPLASH PAGE GALLERY...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Way back in 1971, MARVEL FEATURE #1 was released, giving the world The Dynamic DEFENDERS.  I recently gave you a look at the new facsimile edition of the comic, but I thought I'd show you some more related stuff from my collection.  Below is the splash page (which you also saw in that earlier post) of the debut tale.  I've left out the splash pages of the two back-up strips as I displayed them in that same earlier post, but I included the cover again, above (which you'll already have noticed, natch). 

Next (below), the cover of the second ish, followed by the splash.  I believe I've got a '70s issue of The MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL with the same cover, when the story was reprinted within its pages over three issues (maybe - not sure).  The main tale was 28 pages long, with a back-up tale called The HIDDEN WORLD, which was a reprint from SUB-MARINER COMICS #36 (1954).

The Hulk is too small compared to Namor on this cover, even making
allowances for him 'hunching' over.  Still a nice illustration though

Below is #3, which was back to a standard 36 page comic, the previous two having been 52 page (including covers) extravaganzas.  MARVEL had decided to give their mags more pages and content, but then abandoned the plan after only two issues.  DC COMICS, who'd followed Marvel's example, didn't reduce their page count until several issues afterwards, and their sales had apparently dipped in the meantime.

Number three was The Defenders last appearance in the title, as they soon got their own comic a couple of months later.  Marvel Feature lasted 'til #12, starring ANT-MAN from issue 4-10, with The THING teaming up with The HULK and IRON MAN respectively for the final couple of issues.  Ol' BENJY then got his own series in a new title, MARVEL TWO-IN-ONE, two months down the line.

The COMING Of The DEFENDERS (above), which came out in 2012, reprinted the first three issues of Marvel Feature, and is where the scans of them in this post come from.  I didn't know about it at the time, and it only came into my possession today.  Glad to see it sporting the original NEAL ADAMS cover art, this time coloured by MATT MILLA. 

In 2001, Marvel published DAY Of The DEFENDERS (above), which as well as the first Defenders tale (the splash of which I haven't repeated as it's shown near the top of this post), also featured two 'prototype' Defenders tales, which are purported to have given rise to the regular series.

And just to round things off, let's end with the cover to the facsimile edition, containing all three stories and all the ads from the 1971 comic.  It's a nice little (not so little actually) mag, which belongs in your collection if you're not fortunate enough to own the original.  Right, that's it, effendi - until I can come up with some other idea to bore the pants off you (figuratively speaking of course - unless your name is SALMA HAYEK).

Oh, go on then - below are the two versions side-by-side for an easier comparison.

RESTORING HAGAR THE HORRIBLE...

Copyright relevant owner

The strip above is one that had been on my bedroom wall for ever such a long time.  (Well-over 30 years.)  It was in colour, but had faded, rippled, tanned, and was quite mottled, necessitating a bit of restoration work.  Part of that process, after scanning, was to convert it into black and white by upping the contrast and 'washing' out the colour.  Unfortunately, the original colour scan doesn't survive for me to show you, only the b&w result.  It had a banner above the strip, saying 'The BEST Of HAGAR' - 'DIK BROWNE', but it was beyond rescue so I removed it. 

The next stage was to print out a new copy then re-ink it, and that's the result above.  Next, I coloured another print-out with acrylic inks and added a new title created on my computer.  After that, it was a simple matter to again scan and print out the restored strip on card (below), and put it back up on the space on the wall that the original had once occupied.  Don't know about you, but I think I did a pretty good job.  Feel entirely free to tell me how talented I am.  Go on - I can take it.

The BLACK DRAGON COVER GALLERY...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Was it really a staggering 34 years ago that I first read this then-new 6-part limited series from MARVEL COMICS, The BLACK DRAGON?  Yup, it sure was, but (and you'll no doubt be tired of reading me repeating this by now) it sure doesn't seem like it.  I don't really remember what it was all about, so I took a quick look through all 6 comics before scanning, and there are dragons, fairies, ROBIN HOOD, MORGAN LeFEY, and lots of top-notch drawings in it.  (Hey, if that doesn't make you want to read them, nothing will.)

I plan to reacquaint myself with their contents before too long, but even though I don't recall much of the plot, I've never forgotten the artwork, which made more of an impression on me than the story, obviously.  It's probably been issued in a collected edition at some point down through the years, so I'm going to keep my eyes open for one as I'd like a volume that I can dip into at any time, instead of having to rearrange the contents of my room in order to access the individual issues, which are tucked away in a drawer with loads of stuff in front of it.

Look at the cover of #3, which is my favourite, and for some reason reminds me of my early childhood.  That may be because the house in which I was living during the mid-'80s wasn't all that far from the very first one my family had in this town after moving here from the West End of Glasgow in 1960.  From my '83-'87 bedroom window I could see the woods I'd played in as a kid, beyond which had once spread acres of fields and countryside, but which now sported an industrial estate.

However, I remembered it as it was, and the cover seemed to capture the place as I'd once known it.  No, knights hadn't fought there, nor had it sported marquees - but the grass, trees, clouds and sky looked as if they'd been plumbed from my youthful memories, and were therefore familiar to me.  And, 20-odd years later, an expanse of greenery yet lay within sight of my new bedroom window, which revived and reinforced my childhood recollections for the then-present day.  It's likely that first reading the ish on the same kind of sunny afternoon as depicted on the cover was also a contributory factor in my regard for it. 

However, enough of my nostalgic, self-indulgent sentiment, let's get to the pictures before you abandon me for some other blog.  Did you read this series back in the day?  Then let rip in the comments section about what you thought of it.