BLOGGER FECKS THINGS UP...

 

Due to changes recently introduced by Blogger as to how posts are composed, I no longer have the easy flexibility to arrange or move opening images precisely into the position I want in order to keep them consistent with the layout of previous posts.  If I was prepared to faff about for half an hour, after much trial and effort, I might be able to get them exactly where I want them, but life's too short so I can no longer guarantee continuity in spacing between one post and another.  Everything about the new Blogger now makes everything about five times longer and more difficult to do than previously.  Why the hell do they do it?  Surely their motto should be "If it ain't broke, don't fix it"?  Well, they've now broken it!

RUPERT WOULDN'T FEEL VERY CHARITABLE ABOUT THIS...

Copyright relevant owner

I see the Oxfam charity shop in Clarkston is at it again.  They have a facsimile of the 1952 Rupert Annual, without its slipcase, in a cabinet with a £24.99 price tag on it.  Just looked at it on eBay and there are several going for as much as a tenner less - with slipcase.  (Even allowing for p&p, it still works out a few good pounds cheaper.)  Out of the half dozen available on eBay, only one is marked up at £25, yet charity shops claim that they usually price items between the lowest and the highest on eBay - which, let's face it, given the chancers there, is hardly the most 'scientific' way of evaluating the value of anything.

Yeah, I hear you, it's for charity - but charity begins at home.

MELANCHOLY MUSINGS...

Childhood.  An age of innocence where time seems to hold no sway, and awareness of the future only extends as far as looking forward to school holidays, birthday and Christmas presents, and the latest issue of your favourite comic going on sale.  That apart, there only seems to exist one big 'now', and whatever state you find yourself in feels like it will never end.  The house you're living in will be your home forever, you'll always be a schoolboy (or girl), and your parents and siblings will be around for as long as you are - which feels like it will be for eternity.  Childhood - the best days of our lives we're told, and unless you lived in a third world country beset by war and poverty or were the victim of abuse or cruelty, they are.

It's all downhill from there I'm sad to say.  Age, illness, deaths of loved ones, financial and family worries, uncertainty about a future you never even realised lay ahead of you, so accustomed were you to the eternal present you once thought you had.  Sure, there are good moments too as the years pass and your youth recedes, but they're always bittersweet once you reach that age where you're painfully aware there are more years behind you than lie ahead.  Do policemen, teachers, shop assistants, workmen, etc., all look younger than you recall them being in your day?  They're not, it's just that you're getting older and at the stage where you're beginning to 'fret to find your bedtime near'.  The final bedtime that is.

So now that I've cheered everyone up with my positive and optimistic assessment, let me ask you all a question.  Are you fulfilled in your life; do you have a goodly store of pleasant memories while yet adding to them each and every day, or do you feel that you never achieved your potential and still have so much more you want to do, while being all too well aware that you really don't have enough time ahead of you in which to do it?  Linger a moment  in the darker recesses of your mind, consider your life up to now, and then share your regrets (if any) and sadness of how quickly life seems to pass without us being aware of it until we near journey's end.

(There's no doubt about it - I'll need to stop taking those happiness pills.)

GARTH & ROMEO - TOGETHER... (Update)

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Here's a nice little eBay acquisition which I 'won' today - a 1960s 'Two-In-One' book of Garth and Romeo Brown.  Garth is on one side, Romeo on the reverse, so once you've finished one strip, you turn the book over to read the other.  This will complement my Garth books for 1975 and '76, all three bearing the Daily Mirror name on them.

 

Interestingly, each side of the cover refers to the other as the 'back', although when the price on the spine is the right way up, Romeo Brown is actually the 'front'.  Was Romeo being accorded a subtle degree of favouritism?  Having said that, Garth's name on the spine is above the price, thereby coming first, so perhaps that evens things out - or maybe the publishers didn't think it mattered?

 

Anyway, just thought you might like to see the book.  Anyone a Garth fan?

 

CHILDHOOD'S END...

My 14th birthday was the first birthday I ever spent in my present home, and earlier birthdays in my previous house still seemed so recent that I didn't yet miss the years they represented.  It's only when the recent past has 'matured' (like an old wine) and is no longer so close that we begin to pine for it, and such was the case with me.  (It's not only absence that makes the heart grow fonder, but distance too.)  The last couple of years in my former domicile were not the same as the years that preceded them.  I'd already progressed beyond the stage of viewing the surrounding environs of my neighbourhood as my playground, and was venturing further afield in search of adventure. My taste for toys (in the main) was diminishing, and the occasional item aside, comics had become my primary interest instead of being just one of them.

The 'fabric' of my life had changed and was continuing to do so, but it was doing so while escaping my attention, so when my family flitted to my current residence in June 1972, my life continued for the first couple of years or so in much the same way as the last couple of years in my prior abode.  And it was this sense of continuity in the pattern of my life over the transitional period between one house and the other that dulled my awareness of an incontrovertible fact - namely, that my childhood had already ended in my former home and I had progressed from one stage of my life to another without being fully aware of the 'metamorphosis'.

It was only with the passage of time and many years after the fact that I realised my actual childhood 'belonged' to a previous house (and other houses before it), and that I'd left that blissful state unawares, as cognizance of the process of one's early life unfolding in stages doesn't consciously register until some way down the track.  As I've said before in other posts, life as it happens segues from one 'scene' to another in a subtle cross-fade, but when we look back years later, it seems to jump-cut between them.  That's because we recognise, categorise, and compartmentalise retroactively, not during the actual process of everyday life itself.

I think that's why I sometimes make little 'pilgrimages' back to old houses and neighbourhoods, to pay my respects to my demised childhood, even though, as I said, I wasn't aware it had passed away at the time.  And hey, perhaps it hadn't, and I'm assigning an arbitrary time of expiry as it subjectively seems to me today, not as it appeared back then.  Whatever the case, it makes me wonder how others regard this subject, which in turn leads me to ask the following question to those who feel inclined to answer:

Were you aware of when you ceased to be a child and moved on to the next level of your biological, emotional, and psychological evolution, or - like myself - was it not until many years later while trying to assemble the jigsaw of your life to view the full picture (up 'til now), that you realised you had transformed from a caterpillar to a butterfly without being aware of the fact?  Thoughts, theories, and observations will be made very welcome in the comments section.

BABE Of The DAY - VALERIE PEREZ...

The alluring Valerie Perez holds up a bag of

swag to try and entice me into taking her out on a

date.  She doesn't have to bribe me (though I'd be

 worth every penny), pleading would suffice.

AGAIN - The PHANTOM VIKING...

Copyright relevant owner

Several posts back, I showed you a Phantom Viking strip from the Champion Annual for 1968.  If you remember, I said I may show the second PV strip from the Annual, which is a mix of full and spot colour.  Well, I'm nothing if not a man of my word, so here's that very strip, scanned at the risk of damaging the book so I hope you all appreciate it.

Are you old enough to remember ol' Vikie, and did you think he was just a rip-off of Thor?  Then feel entirely entitled to express your opinion in our free-to-enter comments section!  I repeat - free-to-enter - so where is everybody?  (Hey, I'll even settle for anybody.)

AN INSPECTOR CALLS... ARE YOU GOING TO BE IN? (Updated)

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I suppose it was during my last year at secondary school that the following event I'm about to relate occurred.  Well, the location is definite, but the year is an educated guess, arrived at from the fact that the timing would've been just right.  Several classes of potential soon-to-be school leavers (if my conjecture as to the year is correct) were taken to the science block's screening room to see a movie one day, the cinematic treat presented for our appreciation being An Inspector Calls starring Alastair Sim, and based on the play by J.B. Priestley.

Directed by James Bond stalwart Guy Hamilton, it's a tightly-woven morality tale of how one's every action has unforeseen repercussions that impacts on not just the individual accountable for them, but others as well.  No doubt its screening was intended to inculcate a sense of responsibility in our young minds to prepare us for our impending entry into the working world and justify our position among the ranks of 'adulthood'.  (Of course, it may be that it was routinely shown to all 15-16 year olds each year, regardless of whether they were due to leave school or not, as perhaps that was the age-group considered to be more receptive to the film's 'message'.)  

It's a powerful story, and is so masterfully constructed that you 'can't see the joins' as it unfolds before you.  By that I mean each event appears to be a random happening, totally unconnected to the one that precedes it and the one that follows, though slowly but surely we learn that they're all tied together and that, in life, everything we do has consequences, like the ripples caused by a pebble thrown into a pond.  The acting, lighting, direction, etc., are superb, and the music cues, especially those accompanying dramatic revelations, are extremely effective.

So if you've never seen the film, hunt it down now as it's a true classic (and available on dvd). The twist in the tale of the original play has been 'accentuated' to greater effect in the movie, and I can promise you that you'll be thoroughly entertained, as well as having your imagination stimulated and maybe even your mindset and behaviour affected in a way that's beneficial to not only yourself, but also those with whom you interact.

Hey, that's a movie well-worth seeing, don't you think?!  If you're already familiar with the film, feel free to agree with my assessment of it - or not, as the case may be.  The comments section awaits your esteemed presence.

*****

Below, the actual screening room, in 2007 or '08, recorded for posterity (by me) 33-plus years after first seeing the movie.  It was projected from a booth at the back, though I no longer recall with any certainty whether it was straight onto the wall or a 'roller-screen' (the latter I think), but this was where an Inspector called back in 1974.  (See what I did there?)  Within a few months (at most) of this photo being taken, the entire school was demolished to make way for houses and flats, a new school building having already been built (and in use) on adjoining land.   

JAMES BOND - RANDY RASCAL OR RAMPANT RAPIST - YOU DECIDE...

What the hell is the world coming to?  On another blog, someone dogmatically asserts that MI6 secret agent James Bond 'effectively' raped Pussy Galore in the scene set in the barn on Auric Goldfinger's stud farm.  I've since learned there are other sites where such an utterly ridiculous accusation is repeated as though it's fact, when the real facts are that there's nothing at all in the scene to suggest Bond is raping her.  Just where does such lunacy come from?  (Stick around, I'll tell you shortly.)

Here are the real, incontrovertible facts of the case.

In the movie, Pussy Galore's lesbianism (as mentioned in the novel) is seriously downplayed - to the point that it's not exactly clear whether she is or she isn't. (Though it looks as if she might help out if they were short-handed.)

While Pussy is showing 007 around Goldfinger's farm, they go into a barn and engage in what appears to be a playful, flirtatious, fighting tussle; it certainly doesn't look like either one is seriously trying to hurt the other.  Bond tries to kiss Pussy, who initially appears resistant to the idea (after all, Bond is her hostage and trying to thwart her boss's plans), but then, going from her expression, changes her mind and willingly returns his kiss.  (Look at the above screen-grab - her arms are embracing him, not pushing him away.)

The scene fades out on that kiss, and it's left to the viewers' imagination as to whether they actually went any further, but Bond being Bond, it's not unreasonable to assume that they did (consensually).  Pussy then decides to switch sides, helps Bond defeat Goldfinger, and then, in the movie's final scene, gleefully (and willingly) engages in a bit of (unseen) rumpy-pumpy with our hero under the folds of a parachute.

So here's where the ludicrous assertion that Bond is a rapist breaks down.  (In fact, all that Bond can be accused of is trying to steal a kiss from her, and even then, likely only in a strategic manoeuvre to get her 'on-side'.)  If he'd raped Pussy, it's almost a certainty that she'd have killed him at the first opportunity, not switched sides and betrayed her employer.  

It's also clear, from her readiness to engage in another 'tussle' (without the half-hearted judo or karate this time) with Bond at the end of the movie, that she's completely 'up for it' - which isn't usually the response of someone who'd previously been raped by the person with whom she's now about to have consensual sex.

So how did the rape accusation come about?  Obviously, it originated from a bunch of woke feminists (male and female), who just don't like the idea that there are 'manly-man' men like Bond out there whom women can't resist.  I should know - I'm one of those men.  (Heh heh, little joke there.)  Add to that the fact that the literary Pussy was a lesbian, the idea that Bond 'converted' her ("I must've appealed to her maternal instinct" he says, when asked why Miss Galore changed sides) throws misandric feminists and lesbians into a paroxysm of fury at the very idea of such a thing.  (Yet, strangely, they're always quick to suggest that straight women can be easily 'turned' after a few sherries.)

So our hero - in essence a hired government assassin (when need be), but one who only kills bad guys in pursuit of a better world, is not only a randy cove, but also a bloody rapist!  According to a bunch of men-hating feminists with an agenda, that is.

Anyone else out there who's fed up with this nonsense?  Make your feelings known now.  In fact, make your feelings known even if you think Bond is a rapist.  I'm always prepared to give the other side of any controversial subject a fair crack of the whip, even if they are seriously deranged and talking utter bollocks.  (So completely impartial then.)

Right - who's going to be brave enough to be first?

JAMES BOND 007 NO TIME TO DIE LATEST TRAILER...

     

Here's the latest trailer for No Time To Die, which seems to be derivative of earlier Bond movies, as well as the Mission Impossible films.  Yet another example of Bond following, rather than leading.  It's all gone a bit pc when the new 007 is a black woman (and it wouldn't surprise me if she's also a lesbian), because, as we all know, there are attempts afoot to programme us all into accepting that women can do everything that men can do.  And vice versa - except for having babies and menstruating of course (but at least we can catch man-flu and they can't).

Personally, I didn't see anything wrong with the old idea that men could be good at some things and women other things, with a bit of meeting in the middle, but under the new religion of 'equality'*, diversity, and inclusivity (for the sole purpose of enabling those with an inferiority complex to feel good about themselves), traditional outlooks are being jettisoned faster than a fart from The Flash!  (*What some people fail to realise is that 'difference' doesn't necessarily mean inequality.  An apple is still a piece of fruit despite not being an orange.)

Let's just hope the movie is worth the entrance fee, because there's only one stunt in the entire trailer that stands out - and even then it's based on a scene in The Great Escape with Steve McQueen (or his stunt man).  Right up to date, eh?

MY NUMBER'S UP - OR SHOULD THAT BE DOWN...?

Sometimes I'm not sure whether it's better to leave certain things where and as they are, or salvage them so that they survive beyond their allotted time and place.  For example, 29 years ago I bought the house number plate from the then-current (and now-deceased) tenant of one of my former homes, in which I'd lived from the age of 7 to nearly 14.  Within a few short years of obtaining the number, the house had new windows and front and back doors installed, and had I not got the plate when I did, it would've been consigned to oblivion along with the old windows and doors, etc., before I'd even known about it.

Several months back, I learned that the local council have plans to upgrade the lockups in that very same neighbourhood where I'd once lived, which would entail re-roofing them and replacing the doors.  Some lockups have been bought over the years and are now in private hands, so they might remain untouched and unrestored initially, but the owners will, eventually, have to effect repairs themselves as not all doors (fitted in the early '60s), are exactly in the best of condition.  In fact, some owners have already replaced the original doors, which swung outwards, with ones that swing upwards under the roof.

Limited edition model of Nobel 200

I therefore decided to ask the guy who rents (from the current owner) what had once been my parents' house and lockup to sell me the two number plates on the doors, so that they'd survive any future upgrade.  He kindly consented for free, only requiring that I replace the numbers with new ones so that the lockup's numerical sequence could be readily identified.  And that's how I came to own the two plates at the top of this post.  Come what may, I now possess a tangible reminder from the days when my father housed his Nobel 200 car (and then a Reliant Robin) in that very same lockup, behind those very same numbered doors.

The numbers plates had been painted over at some point in the intervening years since we'd moved (in the '90s perhaps), so weren't entirely visible from even a short distance away, but I plan on stripping back the paint and restoring them to their former glory.  It's a shame I couldn't have waited until the doors themselves were being replaced, as I feel a bit guilty about parting doors and plates from one another before a definite date for their 'retirement' has been set, but I couldn't run the risk of only finding out afterwards when it was too late to nab 'em, so I acted now to prevent such a thing happening.

Photo taken in the late '80s, with plates still visible
(if you enlarge the pic to its optimum size)

Like I say though, it bothers me a little that I've separated them from the only 'home' they've known for nearly 60 years, and if doors and numbers had sentience, I can't help but fancifully wonder whether they'd miss one another?  I suppose that when the doors are eventually replaced, I'll be glad I obtained the plates when I did, as there have been too many occasions in the past when I left such 'rescue missions' too late to do anything.

Right, now that I've once again confirmed that I'm totally bonkers, is there anything that yet resides in a former neighbourhood or home of yours, that you'd like to acquire out of a sense of nostalgia or sentiment - if you could?  Tell all in the comments section.  Oh, go on - it's no fun playing on my own.

Number plate from former house

BABE Of The DAY - VALERIE PEREZ...

Here she is, fellas, the delicious and desirable

VALERIE PEREZ, looking like the princess she is.

Y'know, if she evinced a desire to marry me (being the

handsome, manly-man that I am), I'd certainly consider

it.  Remember though, Val, I'm quite a catch, so make

sure that you don't get lost at the back of the queue

(when it eventually and assuredly appears).

SO - STILL 'THOR' AT VINCE...?

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

Following on from my relatively recent repost about Vince Colletta (here), I thought I'd show you an example of why I think he often gets a 'bum rap' for ruining Jack Kirby's pencil art by missing things out.  As I said before elsewhere, I don't think that it was always a case of him taking shortcuts just for the sake of it, but probably because - at least on some occasions - of him applying his own artistic sensibilities to certain panels because he thought it improved their composition.

Take the panel which opens this post.  To my eyes, the figure at the back of the crowd in Jack's pencils is too small in relation to Loki (given the seeming short space between the two) - and the pavement (sidewalk) looks to be on the same level as the god of mischief's chest, but running up at a slight angle, as opposed to receding away from him at its proper perspective.  By removing the almost prostrate figure, the proportions of the fleeing crowd in relation to Loki appears more realistic, the seeming upward slant is lessened, and the general layout improved.

There's no doubt that Vince sometimes simplified or omitted detail that he didn't consider necessary in order to ink the job quicker, but, like I said, I believe there were times when he thought it improved the overall look of the art.  Sometimes he misjudged it, but, on balance, I think he usually gave more to the strip (in terms of a pleasing visual appearance) than he took away by leaving anything out.

Stan Lee was presumably (mainly) happy with the results (though I can think of one exception), otherwise he simply wouldn't have given Vince his best artist's pencils to ink.  At the end of the day, Thor reportedly sold better when Vinnie inked it than when Bill Everett or George Klein did, so I'd say that surely counts for something.  Anyway, that's my thoughts on the matter - you'll have your own.

'Nuff said.

(Vinnie did make a couple of changes I'm not so keen on - he made Loki's right glove look longer than his left, and the paving slab lines on the sidewalk more angled.  Tsk, tsk!)

HITTING ANOTHER TARGET - AND MISSING... (COMPLETE FIRST ISSUE)

Characters copyright relevant & respective owners

The 'banner' headline atop the front cover gave it away.  Target, published by Polystyle Publications, was really nothing more than a resurrected TV Action, but a much cheaper, slapdash version that was, frankly, uninspiring.  It lasted 19 issues before being merged into TV Comic, and it's a surprise that it even survived for so long.  The title was presumably inspired by Patrick Mower's TV show, but there had been another periodical called Target, published by New English Library, a few years before.

Harry North's black and white art on Hazell was the best thing about the comic, and if the colouring on some of the other strips had been better, and other artists' work tighter, the publication may have stood a greater chance of success.  I can no longer recall whether I stayed with Target for its entire short run or jumped ship after #3, but I do remember giving the first three issues to a pal in the late '70s, possibly the start of the '80s, and I thought that was the last I'd ever see of them.

Around 33-odd years later, though, he gave me them back, along with some other comics I'd given him, which I've now 're-owned' for around 7 years or thereabouts, so I thought I'd share the entire first issue with you here on Crivens.  If you bought Target back in the '70s, what did you think of it?  Or if you're seeing it here for the very first time, does it look like a comic you'd have been interested in?  Share your thoughts in our ever-lovin' comments section if you'd be so good.

(Yeah, I know the post's title is a contradiction-in-terms if taken literally, but I mean it in an ironic, figurative way.)  

And, below, is the earlier NEL title of the same name, but which was a very different type of publication.

HOW TO RECAPTURE YOUR LONG-AGO YOUTH - ESPECIALLY PARTS YOU MAY'VE MISSED AT THE TIME... (Updated)

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I recently purchased the complete series of Man In A Suitcase on dvd, and it's amazing how many episodes I'm seeing for the very first time.  There was only one series of 30 episodes ever made, and I'd mistakenly assumed that I must've seen all of them over the years at one point or another.  To think that I'm only just now seeing some episodes that were initially broadcast when I was around 8 or 9 years of age means that I'm sort of going back in time to see something I should've seen then, but didn't.  (Or maybe I did, but just don't remember.  Either way, it amounts to the same thing.)

Man In A Suitcase is an excellent show, and lead actor Richard Bradford is perfect as the disgraced former CIA agent who was set up to take the rap for helping someone defect to the other side.  Bradford died four years ago (2016) at the age of 81 or 82 (depending on which source you read), but there he is on my TV screen, as young as fit as he ever was, when he was a grown-up and I was a mere kid.  I'm now far older than he was then, which is a bit scary, but I temporarily forget that little fact while watching the show, as I'm returned to another house in another neighbourhood in another age, when I still enjoyed the illusion that I had eternity in front of me and Death was a stranger I'd never meet.

Did you watch Man In a Suitcase back in the '60s, readers, and what did you think of the show?  How do you think it compared to other '60s shows like The Saint, The Baron, Department S, The Avengers, The Champions, Adam Adamant, Callan, and Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased)?  Tell all in the comments section.

******

Having now watched all 30 episodes, I'm astounded by the fact that I only seem to remember seeing about two of them back in the '60s.  In fact, I may be remembering them from repeats in the '70s or '80s.  I can only assume that I watched the opening credits for the great title music, then switched off my brain (not the TV) and read a comic or something.  There are a few scenes in a few other episodes that seem vaguely familiar, but overall, my recent viewing of the show was like watching a completely new series starring a familiar character.  Well, that's me caught up with another piece of my past - I wonder what'll be next?!   

AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN...

Taken in my pal's back garden a couple of nights ago

It was sometime in 1969 (if I recall correctly), that a classmate offered to sell me some back issues of Fantastic and Terrific, which I eagerly accepted.  I accompanied him back to his house after school, whereupon his mother told him to give them to me for nothing, presumably because they were only going to be thrown out to clear some space in a cupboard.  Understandably, he wasn't too happy, but reluctantly complied with his mother's instruction.  (I've never forgotten sitting at the top of the stairs, looking through the comics that I was about to acquire.)  I eventually made it up to him around three and a bit years later by giving him (unprompted) just slightly more than the amount originally agreed upon, as I was still feeling a tiny bit guilty about him being deprived of the whopping sum of either one shilling and thruppence or one and ninepence.  (I gave him ten new pence, being two shillings in 'old' money, the extra remuneration being 'interest'.)
  

A replacement, acquired in 1980, for one of the comics I got in 1969

It was to be 18 years before I returned to his house on three more occasions in the late '80s and early '90s, when he was there visiting or staying with his parents after living and working abroad.  Fast forward almost 30 years, and I've now been in his family home at least another dozen times since April this year, as he's been travelling up from England (where he now lives, and has done for a long time) to prepare the house for putting on the market, 55 years after his family first moved in back in 1965.  (Sadly, his elderly mother has dementia and had to go into a care home last December as she can no longer look after herself.)  In fact, he's been staying in the house for almost the last three weeks (with it going up for sale only a few days ago), and he started back down to England this morning, currently being sat on a train in transit as I type.

The actual size replica photo, in my friend's house

Anyway, back in 1987, my pal gave me his original copy of a primary school class photograph taken in the playground just outside the annexed huts, as the one I'd owned had been lost, damaged, or thrown out back in the late '70s or early '80s.  The plan was that I'd have it copied and returned to him, but he generously let me keep it and supply him with an enlargement in its place.  The original had been snapped in 1967 by a departing teacher, presumably to remember her pupils by, and she had a number of extra copies developed to give one to each of us.  (I say 'give', but I can no longer recall whether they were free or we had to pay for the privilege.)

  

A scan of the original photo...

I've now had that photo for a whopping 33 years (which is nearly three times as long as I had my own copy of it), but, like with the comics, I've always felt a bit guilty about my pal being deprived of the original print he'd had from his '60s primary school days, even though I'd supplied him with a bigger, newer, professionally produced copy to replace it.  On the back of the original pic was printed 'Gratispool Sep 1967', missing from the new copy as, par for the course, only the front pictorial image had been duplicated, not the back.  However, I felt that the info on the back reflected the time it was first taken as much as the front and was incomplete without it, so I recently decided to remedy the situation.

...and the back.  Unsure if date is when it was taken or developed

Being the proud possessor of an excellent scanner and printer, I decided to scan both sides of the main photo and print out an actual-size copy, then present it to my pal so that it could spend some time in the very same house where the original had resided for 20 years before passing into my hands.  Things had turned full circle, the 'master copy' having come from that house, and its doppelganger having returned to it while still owned by one of the first tenants, the very person who gave me the photo 33 years ago.  It's now on its way to somewhere in England, tucked safely away in my pal's luggage, but the fact it (okay then, if you want to be picky, an exact duplicate) made it back to where it started from - even if only for several days - gives me an immense sense of satisfaction.  It feels like I've finally completed an unfinished task.

My pal's house - now up for sale

It's fairly safe to assume that my pal probably doesn't share my outlook to the same (or even any) extent as I do, but to me, it's a case of 'there and back again' (sort of) and that provides me with a huge measure of pleasure.  Bonkers I know, but it's always good to complete the circle, don't you think?  To my mind, it's the end of an era, as - even should my pal have to return to deal with anything concerning its sale - it's by no means certain he'll get to set foot inside the house again before it changes hands, never mind spend another night in it.  So it just seems immensely fitting to me that, henceforth, whenever he looks at that photo, not only will he associate its image with his old house when he first lived there as a child, but also from when just before, as an adult, he left it for perhaps the final time prior to another family eventually assuming ownership of it.

Oh, go on then - one more of the replica

Well, don't know about you, but I find that touching.  The comment section patiently awaits your thoughts (if any).  Feel free to say how mad you think I am, 'cos I don't think I could dispute it with any measure of confidence.