Now THERE’S a post to decrease my readership. As a chronicler of childhood things, is it any surprise that vulgarity raises its ugly and malodourous head?
Regarding this post, as a former boy, there was always a scatological bent to our reality, that cannot be denied, and always supplied.
I, for one, am going to miss bodily functions when we are all brains in jars.
They are called ichimatsu dolls. It is a testament to the artistry and exquisite attention to detail that these dolls can pack such a visceral punch. Nightmare fuel.
Between age 8 and 10. My Nanna even included girls’ comics (Bunty, Mandy, Tammy, et al), which I think were intended for my little sister. She never saw them. I devoured them too! Sorry, sis, when you read this.
The house still remains, in Burnaby, near Central Park. I jog past it on many occasions.
I was a preternaturally good snooker player BTW, much to everyone’s surprise, when I lived in England for awhile. It’ll be our secret.
I could have continued this on another post. However, I hate when strips do that – it makes me want to snap my HBs in half. Here is part 2 of 2. You are welcome.
Love to hear your reaction. I had great fun with this, as I revisited this cherished memory. Ah Renée, where are you now? Saddled with kids and a mortgage, I don’t wonder. Vous souvenez-vous de moi?