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So what's that? Nine star letters for me so far? See lads, it's not how big it is, it's what you do with it that counts.

Cam Kennedy Story board card set and set of logo badges now sold.

[Still working on how to edit original post].

Tell me about it. My secret life as a covert agent of a shadowy organisation that works to make the world a fluffier place has been keeping me busy.

[Tula Lotay print]

I've reached 'peak stuff' in the attic. So, for sale, selection of subscriber  gifts and prizes from various letters that Tharg saw fit to print.

All items are unopened, in their original packaging  (except the Tula Lotay print, which came unwrapped).

Leave a reply or send me  a PM if  you're interested in any of the items or if you want a pic of anything. Paypal is preferred method of payment but let me know if you want to pay by some other method.

Prices are based on what I could see on ebay, but there wasn't much to go on for some of the stuff.  If there's something you really fancy but you don't fancy the price, feel free to make an offer. 

Postage rates are based on second class post within UK. If you live on Mars, Dimension X or somewhere else outside the UK, let me know and I'll get you a price.


Tula Lotay print (supplied flat in original envelope, hence postage cost) £30 + £5.20 pp.

Mega-City 1  note book & pen £10 + £2 pp.

Box set of Cam Kennedy story board cards £20 +£2 pp.

Box set of John Higgins story board cards £20 + £2 pp.

Set of four 2000ad logo badges + Squaxx dek Thargo subscriber badge £10 incl postage.


Job lot of eleven 2000AD Heroclix £20  + £3 pp.

Comprising : x2 Johhny Alpha (blue and yellow), x2 Wulf (yellow and red), x2 Brit-Cit judge (blue and yellow), Judge Fire (red), Judge Mortis (red), Judge Fear (blue), Hershey (blue), Torquemada (blue).

If there's one or more of these little dudes you want, but not the whole gang, let me know (Though it would be a shame to split them up. And they will miss each other. You don't want to be the despicable ogre that makes a bunch of Heroclix cry, do you?).

1. Alski
2. Richmond
3. Eamon

Its been a while but I thought I'd have a go again. Not a compete story this but it tells a tale of sorts.


A DAME WALKS INTO MY OFFICE

Yeah, yeah, I know it's a cliché but it's gotta happen some time, right?

It's just gone eleven o' clock, breakfast time for simping detectives everywhere. This morning I'm having a smoke and a hangover for breakfast. Plain, simple fare but it suits me.

She was classy, the way only rich folks are. Her perfume was sweet and musky, like a whispered promise. Did I also mention she was gorgeous? I mean really. As in, you'd-drink-her-used-bath-water-gorgeous. But I didn't fall off my chair or poke myself in the eye with my smoke or let my tongue hang out. Detective school lesson one. Always play it cool.

"Jack Point?" she says in a voice that's strong and used to being listened to.  Several thoughts run around in my head just hearing that voice. Mostly, they don't manage to run into each other.

"That's what it says on the door, sister." See how cool I played it?

"I need your help."

"Come in. Tell me what  I can do for you." Customer focussed detecting. I read about it somewhere.

Her heels made that click-clacking sound on the floor. She didn't exactly strut but it wasn't far off.  She settled back in her chair and crossed her legs. Most guys would be howling at the moon by now but old Jacky boy is made of sterner stuff.

"Someone is trying to kill me, Mr Point."

"I see" I said with what I thought was an appropriate level of gravitas.  She gave me an appraising look. I reached into a drawer and drew out a whisky bottle and a glass. Her scarlet lips made a little moue and she gave me a different look.

"And you want me to find them?". I gave myself a mental pat on the back for a fine piece of deduction.

"No Mr Point. I know who is trying to kill me. I want you to try and stop it."

I gave myself a mental squeeze on the shoulder and a "there, there".  First bit of detecting of the day and all.

"So. Who's trying to kill you?"

"I am."

I paused, then poured a shot into my glass. "Lady, it's not a detective you need".
She smiled at me then. Full on, lips parted, teeth showing and my heart lurched.

"I'm not suicidal, Mr Point.  I've been set up twice now, both times it was meant to look like murder. Both times I was lucky to escape. The only person who knew enough to set it up is me.   You're the detective, you work it out."

She stood then and leaned across the desk, her body moving with  fluid grace. She took my hand in hers.

"Help me Mr Point. Please."

Part of me was shouting about remember the first lesson but the bongo drums going off below the waistband of my pants were making it hard to hear.

"Shu-shu-sure," I stammered.

An' It Goes a Lil' Somthin' Like This

Saturday night and the joint is jumping. The city is falling apart and we're in here playing a tight set of hard and dirty rhythm and blues. Lets face it, when else will you need a shot of whisky in you and the chance to dance like a fool?

We don't have a name, we're just the Count's band. On my left, the Count, the bluesman himself.  On my right, Billy-Always, a mahogany coloured cliff. In front of me is Charley. Jet black hair cropped short, deep green eyes. She's five foot nothing in her stockinged feet and man, would I love to see her in nothing but her stockinged feet. She's got a voice that's clear and pure but she can take it down low and slutty enough to start fights in the front row. I've got the hots for Charley so bad.

The crowd are talking, drinking, kissing and occasionally listening.  Then in the second set it happens. It's like when good sex turns into great sex. Something unsaid passes between you and you're connected, flowing into one another. Our sound turns hot and frantic, the Count is grinning like a pirate, Billy-Always is gone to another place with the music. My sticks are slippery with sweat  and I've got a diamond cutter in my shorts from watching Charley's  hips thrusting with the beat.

Everybody is moving. The guys and most of the girls up front are fixed on Charley. Further back, folks are jiving, boogying, doing their own thing to get it on. The feeling flows around the room, the need building, the urge for release, for climax.

Then the door at the back slams open. A  tall, skeletal figure stoops in.  We stop playing as the fear travels down towards us like a malign wave. The figure hisses  and like a crazy man, the Count begins to sing.

"When I wus a young boy, at the age of five," Nah-nah, DUM, DUM.

His guitar snarls out  the riff  and it's like somebody else is working my arms as I rap out the counter point.

"My mumma said I wus gonna be, the greatest thing alive." Nah-nah, DUM, DUM.

The creature stops, sways, as if unsure.

"But now I'm a man..."

And all the primal, human energy in that room finds it's release as Charley shrieks "I'M NOT FUCKIN' SCARED OF YOU!"

She heaves a full mug of beer at the creature. It sails through the air, trailing an arc of foam,  exploding in the thing's face. The crowd start reaching for the dark judge, their eyes burning. It hisses again then it's gone. We stop playing and there is a moment of perfect silence before everyone starts at once. Charley turns and looks at me the way a wolf might.

"Ah guess we done for the night," rumbles Billy-Always.

I'm figuring being eaten alive is going to be way better than getting scared to death.

"I guess we are," says the Count. "Damn but if that ain't the blues!"

Toothbrush? Check.
Spare pants? Check.
Throwing around money? Check.
Aspirin? Check.
Kiss missus/sprog/goldfish on head? Check.

ETA 2.5 hours.

Inverness, we are clear for launch.

[You gotta run, run, run, run, runTake a drag or two]

PERCEPTION
(Lyrics: L. Reed)

"Peter, what are you listening to?"

She's so beautiful.

"Uh, it's a new band. The Velvet Underground?"

"It's awful. They can't even play properly. Put something nice on. Lux and the guys will be here soon."

Bitch. I hate you.

You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two

"What, like Bobby Vinton?"

"Don't be like that Peter. I was only trying to be honest with you. Lux! Guys! You're here!"

Hey Ruby baby. Cool sounds."

"It's the Velvet Underground. Aren't they just great?"

That's my music you bitch. Mine. Not yours.

Run, run, run, run, run
Tell ya whatcha do

"Did you get some? Say you got some!"

"Yeah, hang loose babe, we scored some weed but check these out."

"What are they?"

"Acid baby. You ready for the trip of your life?"

"I don't know Lux, isn't it, well, you know, a bit dangerous?"

"Ruby's right, I mean, what is it? It could be anything."

Marguerita Passion had to get a fix
She wasn't well, she was getting sick

"Hey Peter, too square. Remember we're like superhuman? Hello?"

"Peter! You're not scared are you?"

Bitch. Bastard. Bitch. You bitch.

"I never said I was scared did I? I'll take two if you like. Probably won't affect us anyway."

"Woo-hoo! Ticket to ride, Peter! Here you go, my man."

Bastard. Smug fucking bastard.

And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two

...

"Shit! What's happening to him?"

"He's having a fit or something. Whadda we do?"

"Jesus. Look at his eyes.  How can they do that?"

"Ruby? RUBY!"

"Help me. Please. He's inside me. He's pushing himself in. Stop it Peter. Please.  IT HURTS PETER. IT HURTS!"

"Oh man, oh shit, there's something growing out of her."

"Helpmepleeeezzz."

Bitch.Bitch.Bitchbitchbitch.

When she turned blue, all the angels screamed
They didn't know, they couldn't make the scene

...

Birds, buildings, bodies intertwined.
Everything. Just energy, patterns that can be re-drawn.
Vomit mixed with chocolate, bile burning.

"Oh God. Peter, what did you do to us?"

"Nothing, it was nothing. A bad trip. We never talk about this again. Understand?"

And she would run, run, run, run, run

Finally and at long last, I'm going.

New experience for me as I've never been to a Comic Con of any shape or form before.

Hoping to meet some of you fine people. How do you know who fellow boarders are? Is there a secret sign? A cryptic password? Or should I just look in the bar?

Does wearing my kilt count as fancy dress and will I get in cheaper?

How many beer vouchers should I bring and should I eat before I leave home?

None of these important FAQs answered on the website I'm afraid.

I just spent an interesting half hour looking for village with an ominous sounding name near Gloucester that I could use in a story and discovered that there's a wee place called Ampney Crucis!

Toppers old boy!

Despite all the goodness, surprising how many weak covers there are, bearing in mind its selling the product.

3rd - 1719 Simon Davis. Who says you need a big gun to look hard.

2nd - 1762 Lee Garbett. Love this cover, love the red background, love the movement, love the contrasts, if only the strip had been this good.

1st - 1752 D'Israeli. What can you say? Sit back and bask in the brilliance.

This is what happens when you drink too much port...

CHRISTMAS PARTING

Can you feel it? It's something in the air, a tension as if the world has drawn breath and then paused, holding it.  It's the essence of humanity, feelings in primary colours on bold display without the grey wash of routine to hide behind. Elation, joy, sadness, despair.

They say there is no such thing as magic. I say they're wrong. This is magic, that one more turn  around our star pulls at us, deeper than belief, older than speech.  We know without knowing, we've survived another turn. The light is coming back into the world. It's time to drink, to eat, to mate, to rejoice.

And so the magic spreads, office and factory and home.  Here in this place where the small magic of story-telling is done, the storytellers get ready to leave. Young ones talk of  where to meet, romantic conquests yet to be made, drinks to be drunk. Older ones have different stories, good natured talk of family life to be faced. Coats are put on, computers are put off.  Farewells are said. Not "see you tomorrow "or "see you next week" but "see you next year !"  And so the magic spreads and the lights are switched off until only one remains.

But what if you measure your span by the turn of another star? What if you are not of humanity?  The light-years are long and a tyrant is defined only by  those who toil under his tyranny.

A tear creeps down an emerald cheek and so the magic spreads. 

Um. UmUmUmUmUmm... tough to pick but...

1. Alski
2. Mogzilla1
3. Clavell

BULLETS AND PORRIDGE

And this is Uplode, a nice place to live. It's  eight thirty on a bright spring morning and in the Muesli-Doodle-Do!! breakfast boutique, the old man in the booth by the window says "Smugfunt!"

"I'm sorry sir, but you still can't smoke in here. City law."

The old man crushes his ragged roll up into his red gloved hand. "Funters," he mutters and stares out the window.

The grapefruit and wholemeal toast crowd breath a collective sigh of relief, blissfully unaware of the stick up that is about to blight their sunny lives in less time than it takes to slurp a skinny latte.

He stares with rheumy eyes, past the glass, past time, until he sees the Prophet of Doom.

The Prophet thinks the patrons of the Muesli-Doodle-Do!!, with their caffeine fuelled wickedness,  are all going to hell in a hand cart. He may be right but his logic is somewhat skewed. Still, he wears his sandwich board like the armour of God and walks slowly to make sure the debauched and the depraved get a good eyeful.

He digs his spoon into his porridge and cackles.

Lifting the spoon out again, he jabs it in the direction of the prophet. "The end is neigh," he blurts. "What kind of dumb funt sign is that?" A blob of porridge describes a short arc and lands on the table with a splat .

He turns to his companion. "Say Ray, is he a dumb funt or a dumb funt?" He cackles again, then fixes a stare on the man sitting across from him. "You know Ray, you don't look so good.  An' how come you're still wearin' the same stuff all the time?"

Any surprise the nice people in the Muesli-Doodle-Do!! might feel at the old man talking to nobody is wasted by the greater surprise they get when four stick up guys hoodlums walk in and one screams "This is a funtin' stick up. Nobody funtin' move. Put your funtin' money on the tables." Nobody should have to deal with poor grammar and armed robbery so early in the day.

He doesn't realise until a cheapo pistol is jabbed in his ribs and  a voice says "You too Gramps."

The old man rises and turns with impossible grace and the stick up guy stares down a barrel that looks as as wide as a drain pipe.

From nowhere, the old man magic's up a cigarette. "OK if I smoke in here now?" he asks the room.

He stares over the shoulder of the stick up guy. "How the funt did you get a horse in here?" he asks.

The rider says nothing but the pale horse whickers, snorts, shakes its head and lets out a loud neigh.

The old man smiles gently. "Oh yeah," he says as he pulls the trigger.