memoirs of a nark

[RexMonday]

I remember an enthusiastic kid, clutching his 50p pocket money in his hand as he purposefully headed down to the local vendor of things thrilling.

Now, in my minds eye at least, the same shop and the same vendor all appear as part of a sepia tone memory, the kind that everyone needs, to offer a foundation for the rest of their life.

Always the same look from the vendor, a curios and yet faintly approving smile as he dispensed the evolved publication. I always meant to ask him who his favourite character was, but in some way that would have detracted from his cultural benefactor status, and to which surely he would have replied

'Button Man'

And now, the kid (with a hint of adult) makes the same journey to find that the purveyor of progs is no longer with us, but has graduated to the great sci fi convention in the sky.

If only the kid had thought to linger for a moment, perhaps today he would have been able to remember the person as well as the vendor.

Well here's to you Mr Vendor, and all the others out there who know that it's not just another comic/magazine to slot in beteween FHM and Bella.

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