Derek and Clive Get the Horn VHS

Like most British teenagers in the 1980’s, I was introduced to Derek and Clive through a grubby cassette tape thrust into my palm by a friend. “Listen to this”, he said. “It’s the funniest thing you’ll ever hear”. That night I put it on my hi-fi for about 20 seconds, before switching it off as quickly as I could, decanting it into my Walkman instead.

I was utterly shocked. I could not believe for a second that such a thing existed. I was 15, and whilst I obviously knew all the swear words, I’d never heard them used so comprehensively, so offensively, with so little regard for taste and decency. And not only that, this was coming out of the mouths of these two middle aged men I was used to seeing on television. That short bloke from Arthur, and the tall man who was in Supergirl. How did this happen? Did they know?

I told my older brother about the tape, but he just laughed and told me he already knew about it – everyone knew about it. I managed to keep it from my parents, writing “CHART HITS” on the tape sticker and keeping it out of the way. A friend had a story about how he was listening to it on a train too loudly through headphones, and how the sound bleed into the ears of an appalled woman sitting opposite. She hit the roof, he said, nearly smacking him with her handbag.

Now in my forties, I have a son who is a fan of old comedy, but the prude in me hopes he’ll never stumble across Derek and Clive. Although I have to confess, there are parts I still find funny. Dudley Moore shouting “nurse”. His song about when he was ‘walking down the street one day’. Peter Cook’s stream of nonsense about breaking a world record (before it gets nasty). But there is such a strong undercurrent of unpleasant throughout, not just in the language or imagery, but how aggressively Cook turns on Moore, with spite that is painful to listen to.

This is so apparent through this VHS I bought in 1993. It was much trumpeted at the time, the pair even turning up on television together to talk about it.

I somehow felt that I had to have a copy, and so purchased the VHS from Woolworths. I shouldn’t have bothered, I should have sat patiently for Youtube to be created and watched bits of it on there. It has a distinctly grubby feel, shot in a scruffy recording studio that looks as if it stinks of smoke and sweat. Dudley Moore comes across as if he wishes he could be anywhere else but there, whereas Cook, bloated with booze, displays a nasty temper that at times turns to bullying.

Low-lights include the appearance of a stripper, and a “drugs bust” led by a policeman which happens to be none other than Virgin boss Richard Branson. Seeing the two performing the skits visually makes the whole experience far worse. On record, it somehow takes the sting out the unpleasant. It is easier to imagine that Derek and Clive actually are lavatory attendants who don’t know any better, rather than two respected comedians, with one doing everything he could to make his colleague uncomfortable.

But somehow, they got away with it. I don’t know if future generations have delighted in Derek and Clive as much as mine, but me and my peers passed many tapes around. Clearly comedians David Baddiel and Rob Newman also heard it, as evidenced in this tape they sold on one of their tours.

So I spent about twenty pounds on Derek and Clive, though everything has been thrown away or Ebay’d, not out of some purist scourge, more because I merely didn’t want them anymore. They are on iTunes, but somehow its not the same in middle age. Would kids today like it? Do they hear worse? I somehow doubt they do, and maybe that’s for the best.

Whizzer and Chips Comic

It’s a cliche, but it’s amazing to think how far my money used to stretch when I was a kid. In the late seventies, I got twenty pence pocket money from my Grandparents, who on Saturday took me to the parade of shops on the estate near where I lived. I would usually buy two comics and a half a quarter of sweets, usually lemon sherberts. I always asked for a half a quarter – I suppose buying an eighth sounded a bit ‘druggy’. Of the two comics I bought, without fail one of them would be the amazing Whizzer and Chips.

This comic was published by IPC Magazines, and I adored everything they produced. Monster Fun, Shiver and Shake, Buster, Cheeky, Cor!, Whoopee, Krazy, to name but a few. I would have bought every single one each week given the resources. Its incredible to think how much choice there was, literally dozens of different titles jostling for position on the shelf. The IPC comics range were all fairly similar, with some genre specific, maybe more about ghosts and monsters. Comics would come and go, merging into each other like Russian dolls. Gradually a bigger comic would consume an under-selling one, a way I guess of deflecting the few fans an ailing comic had into another title.

But Whizzer and Chips was my favourite and since you ask, I was a Whizz-Kid. There was something about a boy and his snake that appealed to me more than a kid who kept on getting a black eye. There is something very charming about a typical IPC comic strip, miscreants walking unchallenged down plain, bare streets, against a vanilla sky, bumping into friends and getting into scrapes. I loved the pictures of food, bags of sweets groaning, fish and chips steaming. And I loved the mood they conjured of relaxed, easy play, of turning a corner and bumping into a friend, or a bully.

My favourite strip was ‘The Krazy Gang’, which rather annoyingly appeared in Chips. This was about a gang of kids, a parrot, and a bonkers alien called Freaky. He was a nightmare of teeth and eyes, with hanging, defined arms and a school tie. No explanation was given how he came to be spending his time hanging around with this bunch of misfits. He was very easy to draw, and I used to spend hours doing just that, on any spare scrap of paper I could find. So popular was the gang that two members had their own spin off. Pongo the baddie got a strip of his own and Cheeky his own comic, which was quite the promotion. It didn’t last long long, but one edition came with this rather excellent badge that I still have to this day.

I love the art style of this strip, particularly how the artist shows movement in the characters with very simple pen strokes. These guys could really draw. Also, looking through these now, you have to remind yourself that its not Viz without the swearing. So much of DNA of the IPC house-style drifts into the parody version. That said, I never once remember laughing at a comic when I was a kid. The impression they gave was of children rolling around in laughter when reading, but I viewed them almost as if they were drawn documentaries. They entertained me, but I never found them funny.

I didn’t cared one bit for any DC Thompson publications, and it pains me that they are the company still going, churning out rather depressing ‘comics’ to this very day. And don’t get me started on Biffo the Bear. From time to time I’ve bought my 9 year old son a Beano, amazed at how little content he got for so much money. I had a few old Whizzer and Chips left, which he enjoyed, so I decided to go on Ebay and see what old comics were still available.

I bought a bunch and short answer – he loved them. I managed to get forty issues for a tenner, and he thought they were amazing. He keeps them by his bed and goes back to them night after night. So they really did make them better in those days, and its such a pity that the Beano is the only survivor of that genre. Week after week I used to spend my pocket money on these, plus the Summer Specials, plus the annuals. A good hundred quid or more of my own money, for something that still entertains children to this day. I have great fondness for IPC, nestled away in Kings Reach Tower, and I think their absence is a great loss to today’s generation of silly kids.

 

Eastenders Novel ‘Good Intentions’

Throughout my teenage days, I was an occasional diarist.

I’d start the year with ambitions to keep a daily record, fizzling out part through the year, due to apathy and the absence of anything exciting happening. The records I do have frustrate me, as I spend most of the page describing what’s happening in the world, rather than what’s happening in my life. For example, I report in great detail matters such as the space shuttle exploding, or Chernobyl, as if I’m concerned it may pass other archivists by. I should have left the heavy lifting to the likes of Max Hastings and Dominic Sandbrook, and concentrated on what I had for tea or did at school.

The worst offender is my 1986 diary. All I do is bang on about Eastenders. I was obsessed with it that year, and every Tuesday and Thursday’s entries are exclusively about Albert Square. Why I felt the need to review the plot of each episode I’ll never understand, but I faithfully give my thoughts and opinions, sometimes again for the Sunday omnibus. When Andy the nurse got knocked over I even gave the page a black border.

So what actually happened to me on the 14th August 1986, we will never know. And my obsession with Eastenders didn’t end at BBC1. With my pocket money, I bought these flimsy fiction paperbacks as well. I was a relatively normal teenager, but my reading material consisted of these trashy novels telling the back stories to my favourite characters, such as what Ethel did during the War, or how Lofty coped in the army.

My favourite was Good Intentions, which covered the blossoming relationship of Debs and the aforementioned Andy. I thought Debs was the most beautiful woman to grace the planet, and read this paperback again and again. They make Mills and Boon look like a Man Booker Prize contender, but that didn’t stop me. I’d daydream that I was Andy, particularly when I got to the racy bit on page 148. During 1986 I went on a two week exchange trip to Germany, and took two items of reading material for the whole fortnight – The Eastenders book, and the April edition of Spectrum magazine Crash. It was all I needed.

Now, in 2019, UK digital channel ‘Drama’ are repeating Eastenders, right from the beginning, and I’m hooked all over again. They show two episodes a day and I’m gripped. At the time of writing, it’s the early Spring of 1987 in Walford. Pete has just beaten up Pat, Barry and Colin keep falling out, and Arthur’s been released from hospital after his Christmas Club related breakdown. I can’t get enough of it. If they showed six episodes a day, I’d still be up to date.

My relationship with Eastenders came to an abrupt end around the time Huw and Lenny left in the late 90’s. I just stopped, and now it’s as incomprehensible to me as a foreign language comedy. But these old ones are so watchable, and I can’t get enough. Though  I have no idea why I loved these trashy paperbacks so much.

I bought about a half dozen of these books, retailing for two pounds each. Twelve pounds for a little bit of Walford magic. I definitely got my money’s worth out of Good Intentions.

Twelve Palitoy Snowtrooper Action Figures

On my kitchen windowsill are twelve, identical toy Star Wars Snowtroopers, standing around a toy Darth Vader. It’s like a twisted version of Jesus and his disciples. Let me explain.

In the town where I live there is an excellent junk shop. They sell everything – old vinyl, Dinky cars, DVD’s, weird ceramics, thimbles, the works. It’s a collectors dream. A paradise maybe. And they have hundreds of 1970’s and 1980’s Star Wars action figures for sale.

I already owned a Snowtrooper, given to me a child when Empire Strikes Back was released. Passing the shop one day, I noticed there were two in the window. This got me thinking how fun it would be to have three together, a Snowtrooper boy-band. They were only £4 each, but I talked the man down to £7 (I’m quite the negotiator).

Since then, every time I walk past and see one in the window, I buy it. My wife does the same if she spies one on her lunchbreak. The man in the shop comments to her that there is another collector, and he will be annoyed to have missed out. He says the same to me. He doesn’t realise that these rival collectors are actually a double act, and we’re too embarrassed to tell him.

And I’m now up to 12. I like the fact it’s a dozen, like our Lord Jesus and his friends, and am unsure if I will buy anymore. What’s tempting me at the moment is the fact the shop currently has five General Madine’s for sale. The thought of a dozen of these occupying a space in my house amuses me as well, and so I may well start another collection.

Obviously, this is madness, and I am unsure what compels me. Why on earth would anyone want a dozen little bearded action figures stood next to the microwave? My wife certainly doesn’t. But it’s taking considerable willpower not to march in there with £20 (which I should be spending on food and shoes for my children) for all five.

As a child, the Star Wars action figures were my favourite toys. I was six when the first film came out and like all boys I was quickly smitten. Of the original 12 figures that came out in 1978 I had eleven, which are still in my possession. I never had Ben Kenobi, not sure why. My friend Adam did and I viewed this figure with envious eyes. I also had the Sandcrawler playset (which meant I owned two Jawas) and Luke’s speeder.

I was still crazy about these toys when Empire Strikes Back came out. These are my favourite figures. I sent off box-tops to get a mail order Dengar to complete my collection of bounty hunters. I didn’t have any Ugnaughts but did own Lando and Lobot, plus scores of rebels in differing costumes. I didn’t get any playsets, only figures.

Then along came Return of the Jedi, but my interest in toys had waned. I didn’t get any, not even an Ewok. My son now plays with my original action figures, all safely stowed in a shoebox. In adult life, I toyed with the idea of collecting all the figures from my childhood, but never got round to it. And so instead I have collected multiple versions of the same figure.

All in I estimate this has cost me £60. Does this represent excellent value for money. NO. Has it been fun collecting them? You know, I’d have to say YES.