Or The Perils of Being a Moderator
As I had reason to be in town the other day, a place I ordinarily avoid like the plague, and as I have taken on Modship of the Comics section, by the default route of being the incunbant in Books, I thought I ought to do a little homework and perhaps buy a comic or two. That way I might be able to spout knowledgably about them, for a week or two at least.
Now the last comic I actually bought was the Beano (for my then young son) and that was well over 25 years ago. So perhaps one can imagine my problem after gaily sauntering into WH Smiths (the well known national newsagent) to pick up a few examples.
They've all gone!
With the exception of a tattered copy of Dandy and the ineffable stand of Commando. There was nothing left of the comics I read as a kid! No Whizz, Topper, Victor, anything!
An awfully kind child pointed out the bottom shelf and spent several minutes going through all the gawdy things that masquerade as comics, Rosey and Jim, Tots, Teletuppies, Thunderbirds, Stingray and wot-not, until his mother dragged him away with stern warnings about talking to strange (and odd) old geezers.
Okay I can't be too hard on Thunderbirds and Stingray as I'm Mod in there as well. If you want to know my opinion of them, you'll have to visit. But as for the others! Well!
After some twenty minutes rummaging, my neatly arranged piles of paper and I were approached by a shop assistant, asking nicely if I was okay, or if I needed anything, like a first aider? Think she must have thought I had had a wobbler, or perhaps I was one of those folks from the local funny farm on parole.
Having assured the young lady there was no problem and explained what I was actually after (taking my grandsons names in vane), I received a blank stare and the assurance that if such magazines still existed they could be ordered specially.
"I don't want to order them!" I pleaded. "I just want something for the kids to read when they come!"
"Well there are all those!" She points at my little pile.
"But they are 12 and 16 years old! (exagerated) What would they want to read Tots for?"
With my last vestige of dignity I walk out nonchalently, then scarper, right quick, feeling like a teenager that has been caught raiding the top shelf.
I did find one in the end. In my tobacconist. Who carefully and sensibly handed me my tin of Night Cap and hid the offending literary piece in a plain brown paper bag. Allowing me to creep home.
Now who still wants to be a Mod?
As I had reason to be in town the other day, a place I ordinarily avoid like the plague, and as I have taken on Modship of the Comics section, by the default route of being the incunbant in Books, I thought I ought to do a little homework and perhaps buy a comic or two. That way I might be able to spout knowledgably about them, for a week or two at least.
Now the last comic I actually bought was the Beano (for my then young son) and that was well over 25 years ago. So perhaps one can imagine my problem after gaily sauntering into WH Smiths (the well known national newsagent) to pick up a few examples.
They've all gone!
With the exception of a tattered copy of Dandy and the ineffable stand of Commando. There was nothing left of the comics I read as a kid! No Whizz, Topper, Victor, anything!
An awfully kind child pointed out the bottom shelf and spent several minutes going through all the gawdy things that masquerade as comics, Rosey and Jim, Tots, Teletuppies, Thunderbirds, Stingray and wot-not, until his mother dragged him away with stern warnings about talking to strange (and odd) old geezers.
Okay I can't be too hard on Thunderbirds and Stingray as I'm Mod in there as well. If you want to know my opinion of them, you'll have to visit. But as for the others! Well!
After some twenty minutes rummaging, my neatly arranged piles of paper and I were approached by a shop assistant, asking nicely if I was okay, or if I needed anything, like a first aider? Think she must have thought I had had a wobbler, or perhaps I was one of those folks from the local funny farm on parole.
Having assured the young lady there was no problem and explained what I was actually after (taking my grandsons names in vane), I received a blank stare and the assurance that if such magazines still existed they could be ordered specially.
"I don't want to order them!" I pleaded. "I just want something for the kids to read when they come!"
"Well there are all those!" She points at my little pile.
"But they are 12 and 16 years old! (exagerated) What would they want to read Tots for?"
With my last vestige of dignity I walk out nonchalently, then scarper, right quick, feeling like a teenager that has been caught raiding the top shelf.
I did find one in the end. In my tobacconist. Who carefully and sensibly handed me my tin of Night Cap and hid the offending literary piece in a plain brown paper bag. Allowing me to creep home.
Now who still wants to be a Mod?
