After I'd visited Peter's workplace, which
was an absolute Aladin's cave, but which I didn't think to photograph, I made my
way back to Central London by ♫♪ London Transport, diesel-engined, ninety-seven horsepower
omnibus! ♪♫, alighting at the
top of Tottenham Court Road, to walk down into Charring Cross with a diversion
off to the side to visit Forbidden Planet
in Shaftesbury Ave' on my way eventually - over
the River.
Of
course the first thing you see as a pedestrian in that part of the world is the
famous/infamous (not a point of view; it is, and has been both, to most!) Centerpoint tower, the top of which is described
by Old Bailey of Gaiman's Neverwhere as the one place in Central
London where you don't have to look at it! But with the early autumn (second
week of September), afternoon sun on it and a recent revamp, it was worth an arty shot!
And
so to Forbidden Planet, which, to be
frank - and you know I'm not backward at being forward - was a bit fucking shit!
I
used to love Forbidden Planet; I
discovered it decades ago, when it was round the corner in New Tottenham Court
Road, a wood-floored warren of rooms and piles of boxes, mostly in the
basement, run by a band of enthusiastic, aficionados (who probably took half
their pay in musty tomes), with tens of thousands of old comics stacked tight
in long, tatty cardboard boxed, imported graphic novels and sci-fi paperbacks in
a mix of old 'brown-furniture' antique bookcases or splintery, pine warehouse shelving,
with cartons, cages or flick-racks of posters, comic-art originals and other ephemera at the ends/corners of every isle/stack.
It
was, not to put too fine a point on it; a nerdy bookworm's heaven and an early
issue of Heavy Metal was a quid, or
less, and I've watched it, slowly, over those decades turn into a monument to Mammon,
supplying needy, pretentious Kidults with over-priced polymer shite of
formulaic virtue, for signalling lifestyle choice to their acquaintances!
Gone
are the old comics, gone are the old books; there's no paper on the top floor and in their place mountains of
plastic most of which I wouldn't give house-room to if I was a millionaire! While downnstairs it's all new-issue and tame Marvel, DC, Dark Horse and Titan.
The
staff are friendly enough, and very helpful (I dealt with two), but they didn't
have a clue what Heavy Metal was
(it's not stocked anymore, despite still going), or it's role in ensuring
they would still - or 'even' - have a job in 2022, and if I'd said Métal Hurlant, they would have assumed "The old geezer downstairs is having a
seizure"! They are just employees, on shit money, with no emotional investment
in the business they work for.
And,
to add insult to injury, they didn't have Brian Heiler's Toy Ventures either; the wankers! Anyway, I took a few shots for Brian's Faceplant
group, but realised the images were a bit shit too, some of them are a tad fuzzy
or blurry, so I'm forcing them on you instead, with few pithy remarks!
The only real bright spot was a couple of shelves of pop-culture books, among which were these three, I think I have the Tashen somewhere, and while I didn't buy either of the others, I will look for them going cheap on Amazon in about five years time, I bet I pick them up for less than six-quid each in a few years!
Pretty innocuous I suppose!
New generation of 'Micro Machine' stuff, now Hasbro
The only other bright spark!
I haven't got any for a while, I must check Basingrad - They'll be cheaper!
35 quid for plastic model kits? Madness!
26 fucking quid for a rubber fucking monkey!
You're 'avin' a laugh pal!
Urrruuh! Bleurgh! Ga-ga-ga-Wuurrrrp!
Take yer' Funko-pops and shove 'em where the sun don't shine!
Blind bags, blind boxes, blind packs, it's not fun, it's tedious and annoying and there's no central swap-hub, at least if you collect china shite you have the 'Bradford Plate Exchange' to help organise your over-priced idiocy and to get rid of it when the truth dawns!
Now, I can rant like a curmudgeon all I
like, the fact is the core-customers (and - seemingly - the staff) love the
place, and those of my generation who didn't 'put away childish things' are thin on the ground, and time moves
on, one of the worst things about ageing is seeing your world disappear, first
through cultural things like this, then the parents joining the grandparents in
the hereafter, and eventually friends start dropping-off about the place, carelessly, it's
the great tragedy of human existence - the inevitability of that existence ceasing
to exist!
But come-on Forbidden
Planet,
you can carry Heavy Metal for fucks sake!
And teach your staff what it means to the 'Hobby'!
