GRAPHIC NOVEL REVIEW: FAIREST vol.1 WIDE AWAKE (2012)

Previously published on Amazon as a 5* review.

This Fables spin-off is not only the best of Fables spin-offs, it's actually better than Fables itself. The idea behind it is to tell background stories of the women of the Fables universe with tales of varying lengths. In this first volume we have a 6-parter and single issue story.

Wide Awake, the main story is an origin (the real one) of Sleeping Beauty aka Briar Rose and it's ingeniously done. Set after the fall of the Adversary in the main continuity, Ali Baba the self-acclaimed Prince of Thieves, frees an effrit, not a djinn as he hoped, who can only offer him knowledge rather than three wishes. The effrit, a highly intelligent and sophisticated imp, for reasons of his own encourages Ali to steal Sleeping Beauty's slumbering body from goblins who've captured her only to find that there are two sleeping women, both of whom he awakens. Unluckily for Ali, one of them is the Snow Queen, former right-hand woman for the Adversary, who has a penchant for listening to stories and she finds that of SB's most interesting.

What we have have here is, written by Fables mastermind Bill Willingham who is at the very top of his form, a delightful story itself, packed with wit, invention, action, and romance which expands on the background to the Fables stories. 

The art by Phil Jiminez is to die for. He's emerged from his George Perez lookalike phase as a sophisticated artist in his own right. His men are handsome, his women gorgeous, his monsters and villains hideous. And I must add a note of appreciation for the rich and subtle colouring of Andrew Dalhouse which does so much to enhance the art. It's a disgrace his name isn't on the cover.

 

Set in the 1940's, the single-issue story is sepia coloured noir written by Matthew Sturges and illustrated by Shawn McManus. In it, a heavy-smoking Beast playing a hard-boiled private eye is hunting the Lamia, a serial-killing Fable, who has arrived in Lost Angeles. It's neat, nicely done and has a killer twist I wouldn't dream of spoiling.

If the creators of this title can maintain the standard set here, then us lucky readers are in for a feast of delights in the near future.

GRAPHIC NOVEL REVIEW: ROOTS OF THE SWAMP THING (DC COMICS CLASSIC LIBRARY)

This had been out for nearly a year before I even realised it existed and even then I couldn't get it from Amazon and had to pay more for a copy on Ebay. But it was worth it. This is the collection of one of the two comics which got me back into reading comics again almost exactly forty years ago -the other being Roy Thomas & Barry Smith's Conan (which I also have in hardback). That's 1972 for the numerically challenged. The book contains all 13 issues of Swamp Thing that were written by Lein Wein, the 10 illustrated by Bernie Wrightson, 3 drawn by Nestor Redondo and the precursor to the series, an 8 page story from House of Secrets which created a big stir. All in a nice solid hardback with decent paper.

The very first words on the opening page of Swamp Thing:1 are: Beginning --a NEW kind of graphic excitement-- The SAGA  of the SWAMP THING! And for once, rather than being outrageous hyperbole, this was the simple, plain unadorned truth.

Well, more or less.

Muck monsters weren't anything new -back in the 40's there was The Heap- they'd just never been fashionable before. The Heap was also brought back later that decade when Eclipse Comics revived, and to great success (trans. I loved it) Airboy and his friends.

But what made Swamp Thing the great success was the art by Bernie Wrightson who came over as a cross between EC artists Berni Krigstein and Wally Wood with his eye for the grotesque, his distinctive style and very fine lines. The script by Wein was good for the period but not noticeably outstanding. His plots were better as we got: a brilliant young scientist trapped in a grotesque body which could form words only with the greatest difficulty who comes into conflict with diabolist Arcane (who later played a major villain in Alan Moore's revival) and his Un-men (who got their own Vertigo series), a Frankenstein's monster-like creature, a wolfman, witches, robots with a twist, a Lovecraftian monster, an alien, and Batman. The actual stories were better than the dialogue and suited the maturing young Wrightson to a T.

Back then, no-one had seen art like this in mainstream comics before. It was grotesque, it was scary, it was beautiful. It was, by the standards of the time, breathtaking and a world away from the clean bright conventional superheroes. Swamp Thing inhabited the places they never even thought to go.

It was the best comic of its day and forty years later it still stands up. This is a collection that no comic lover should be without.

Post script.

Nestor Redondo, who replaced Wrightson, was by no means a weak substitute but a very talented Philippino comics artist. If he lacked Wrightson's eye for the grotesque, he made up for it with an attractive, clean and detailed style. He died in 1995.

Bernie Wrightson, however, is still with us and still active. He's currently working on stories about a revived Frankenstein's creature with writer Steve Niles and I'm impatient for the trade paperback edition..

BOOKS: BOOKS WAITING TO BE READ

And these are only the most recent titles.

 

(NB: this is a book created to accompany a 2004 exhibition of Tezuka's work at the National Gallery of Victoria in Australia. Quite scarce, I picked it up for a reasonable price on Ebay because no-one else put in a bid.)

(A long time fan of this series, I only just found out that this and some others I'd missed were available.)

(Following his recent death,the insults by cretins commenting in some of the tabloids because he never gave up on Marxism were just appalling and made me want to seek out his books.)

(The only book on sport that I have ever bought or will buy.)

And if I was to include all the books sitting on my shelves waiting to be read, this list would more than double in length.

BOOK REVIEW: SPACEHAWK by BASIL WOLVERTON (Fantagraphics Books, 2012)

Writer/artist Basil Wolverton is one of comics cult legends. He produced some weird and wonderful science fiction stories in the early 40's; in the 50's he became a legend for his physical and surreal grotesqueries which appeared in Mad Magazine; and later in his life, following his fundamentalist evangelical faith, he focused on Biblical and apocalyptic images.

Spacehawk is one of his earliest works and this is a complete and chronological collection of the (usually) 10 page stories which appeared in Target Comics. The first  nine stories are set in the future where our hero zips and zaps around the solar system defeating evil (often with extreme brutality and usually with lethal force) which he senses mentally. His powers are vague but do include super-intelligence, able to transfer a humanoid brain into a dinosauroid creature or knock up a robot fish in half an hour. He's very strong but not quite invulnerable, and has various mental powers. He's also at least over 800 years old.

This was his only cover appearance.

The creatures, aliens, and humanoids in these stories were strange and often quite wonderful, such as the bad guys whose neck and head bear a strong resemblance to a penis but obviously no-one noticed at the time. Please let me know if I'm seeing something that isn't there.

And then, very abruptly, Spacehawk was suddenly contemporary with his readers, the smell of war was in the air with World War 2 already well under way in Europe. Now he fought thinly disguised, and then not thinly at all, the Axis powers which allowed Wolverton to caricature Germans, Italians and Japanese, something he did with great gusto. But you'll have to take my word for it as the image below was the only one I could find. After 20 stories in this vein, Spacehawk was cancelled, never to be revived.

Fantagraphics have done a great job in the presentation. The book is large size, larger than the original comics, on good quality paper (which has a nice smell to it), and there's an informative introduction by Wolverton's son who also followed in his father's footsteps.

Even better from my point of view, I originally ordered this title when it was £13.99, used an Amazon voucher to knock a tenner of it, and when it was finally published clocked in at £18.99. Sweet.

MUSIC, BOOKS, DVD: RECENT AMAZON REVIEWS

Been a while since the last post. Several reasons: I've been busy; I haven't been well; I'm splitting up from my wife; I'm in the process of buying a house; I couldn't get in the mood. I'm forcing myself to do this one even though it's easy as it's mostly already written. I did have plans for: an overview of the two DVDs and the official book of the London 2012 Olympics; a run through of books I've read, am reading, and am waiting to read; ditto for DVDs.

Why do I keep buying Grateful Dead albums?

 I'm certainly not a Deadhead; a Deadhead being the accepted name for die-hard fans of the band and who, if they can afford, buy every single (an inappropriate word given that most of their releases are multi-volume live sets) thing issued. I most certainly do not. I doubt if I own more than a quarter of their live output. True, I also have the two massive box sets of their official major label releases (with lots of extra tracks) but that doesn't make me a Deadhead. I most certainly have not nor have I any intention of buying any of the massive live sets (like the complete Europe 72 concerts or the one from which this collection is culled). But equally I can't deny that I'm a big fan and they are my favourite band.

I'd like to propose another class of GD fan called: (and ripping of shamelessly from Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead -I'm also a horror movie buff) The Deadite. The Deadite is an enthusiastic GD fan but not obsessively so. They're someone like, well, me who had to have this compilation but not the massive set from which it's compiled.

And, boy, am I glad I did. Clocking it at around 79 minutes on each of the two discs, you couldn't possibly get more for your money, and a reasonable price it is too. Later period Dead isn't as fashionable as their 70's heydays but this set goes some way to correcting the image of later period as somehow inferior. Let me tell, om these discs, the band are on fire. They are as tight and as sharp as I've ever heard them. Maybe it's the production or better quality drugs, I don't know. What I do know is that, because it's a well chosen compilation, there isn't a dud track here. You could even use it as a introduction to someone who's never heard the Dead before.

No question, this is one of their best live releases ever. 

 First off, I write this as a long time reader of SF and Fantasy novels, and of super-hero comics/graphic novels/whatever, and comics in general and review all of them regularly, often here on Amazon. Turning my head from the screen I can look at my bookshelves filled with dozens of super-hero graphic novels. Okay, credentials established, herewith the point of this review. Super-heroes don't work as prose fiction. Qualification: I'm talking about the costumed super-heroes who live in a common universe of the like of those established by DC and Marvel. You can have what are effectively non-costumed super-heroes disguised as, say magic users and it will work -see my recent review of Hard Magic- but mainstream costumed super-heroics don't.

They can, just about and albeit watered down, work on TV (Smallville and the recent Arrow), and work very well on film but even there it helps a lot if the director is Joss Whedon. But where they work perfectly is the place that they came from -comics. In comics the stylised dynamic art creates a convincing hyper-reality that transcends the essential silliness of the concept. Comics were made for super-heroes and it's their natural home.

But prose without pictures isn't. I've read a number of novels which attempt to transcribe costumed super-heroes from their home into another format and, with one glorious exception, they don't work. And Seven Wonders isn't the exception.

I can't go into too much detail because I'm assuming a few of you will be buying this book so I'll have to comment in more general terms as I don't want to write any form of spoilers. In the Californian city of San Ventura lives the world's last super-villain -The Cowl- and his nemeses, the superhero team known as Seven Wonders -probably because the wonder is why they can never catch him. The our hero suddenly discovers he's developing super-powers and battles the Cowl who attempts to rob a bank where he's cuing up for cash and defeats him. What follows is a multi-viewpoint story in which, if you can't guess most of the surprises, twists and turns, you haven't been reading comics (or any fiction) lately.

And what also follows is why the book doesn't work. The author hasn't attempted to create a prose form which describes super-hero battles, and other super-hero tropes, that actually works. "Avengers assemble!" works fine as a battle cry in a comic in big dynamic lettering and shouted out by Captain America but is just silly in text- "Seven Wonders, unite!" when spoken by a character we know little about. The descriptions of super-hero fights are ploddingly mundane without any accompanying images. But to be honest, the rest of the prose is competent at best and the real story, when we finally get to it, just isn't very interesting.

In short:it just doesn't work.

To be fair there are three pages of ringing endorsements from numerous people whose names I recognise and all of them are in the comics industry, most of them being comics writers, so I suppose they would say that, wouldn't they?

And the one glorious exception to super-heroes in prose -it's the Wild Cards series, a shared world created by George R R Martin (Games of Thrones) a few years ago with the help of many other talented writers. Try and get the original series but avoid a more recent attempt to revive it. 

(NB. Since writing the last half of the final sentence I've discovered there have been three more Wild Cards titles since the unnamed two which didn't impress me and I've ordered all three.)

 

 Promising start to a tough alternate magical mystery history series.

Despite the cover, it isn't hard-boiled fantasy but good secret society vs bad secret society. It's also more of an ensemble character piece with frequent shifts of viewpoint between the various characters. Despite the emphasis being on magic -it exists and an individual can (supposedly) only have one magical power- it reads to me more like secret societies of superheroes.

Whatever. Basically history has been changed by the existence of people with magical/super powers and public reaction has varied. But that's just the background. The story is the recruitment of (really, really, really) tough guy Jake Sullivan to the cause of the good guys magical secret society and their hidden war with the bad guys magical secret society. It's about 20% too long but it still kept me reading and I'll be back for the sequel. 

Pleasantly surprised.

While not without its flaws, this is actually quite a good reworking of the old Edgar Rice Burroughs novel of A Princess Of Mars, providing a semi-rational explanation of how Carter gets to Mars in the first place -which is more than old ERB did.

On the acting side is solid work from hero Taylor Kitsch who is outshone by a feisty Lynn Collins as Dejah Thoris, with solid support from the supporting cast including Dominic West, Ciaran Hinds, and Mark Strong. The special effects are convincing, especially the four-armed Tharks led by Tars Tarkas (Willem Dafoe). The airships are good to look at and it usually moves along at a fair pace.

I can't understand the downpour of heavy criticism the film engendered as it's a solid and entertaining genre piece. Sadly this means there won't be any sequels or other movies set in exotic alien landscapes with two-fisted lantern-jawed blaster-wielding heroes, beautiful mysterious heroines and ancient and deadly secrets from the heady days of Pulp SF and written (at its best) by Leigh Brackett. Alas.

A likeable subtitled Spanish horror-comedy.

This is a low budget pleasant time-passer in which the humour comes out of the characters rather than being forced, which is always a good thing. To save money, rather than film the prologue which sets the scene, we get an illustrated one which resembles racy comic book art and is quite effective.

Once that's over, the film itself is set in and around an isolated and cursed Spanish village. Removing the curse (a wolfman) depends on our hero getting eaten on a specific day by the wolfman and if he isn't a worse curse descends on the village. Needless to say, this happens and the English title sort of gives away any surprise as to its nature. The gore is moderate and often undercut by humour. The monster is quite good and accurately depicted on the 3-D cover and a very effective 3-D cover at that.

Approach it with moderate expectations and a couple of beers and you'll have a reasonably good time. 

 I have mixed feelings about this book as there is a lot to like about it but I also have one major gripe.

The good stuff includes an interesting premise which sets this apart from other Urban Fantasy (of which I've been reading a lot lately) as three mismatched coppers (police to our overseas friends) and a researcher are forced together to use police procedures to investigate a crime involving the supernatural. It's more complicated than that but I do try to avoid spoilers. It also involves a major football club (West Ham) and Anne Boleyn, and a really vile villain who commits certain acts which are truly shocking and horrifying to even the most hardened reader. It builds well to a climax and sets the scene for a sequel.

Cornell is a competent writer of growing experience but one who lacks a talent able to deliver the groin-gripping prose of, say, the current maestra Kate Griffin.

My gripe is that the characters are never vivid or distinctive enough, particularly in the beginning and it took me a while to get any sort of handle on them and I never really did with one. Eventually the sheer power of the story does overcome this and it kept me reading right to the end but it's still a misjudgment on my part. Or maybe it's just me.

Worth reading at a rating of three and half stars for fans of the genre but be prepared to persevere at first. 

Post Script.

There's another couple of CDs I'd like to have reviewed but I haven't listened to them enough to do them justice (though I know I like them a lot). They are: Emeli Sande's Our Version of Events (special edition) and Neil Young's Psychedelic Pill and you can't get much more diverse than that. The Young ( with Crazy Horse) CD begins with a 27 minute long track which is longer than some famous artists entire albums.

BOOK REVIEW: STRAY SOULS by KATE GRIFFIN

As the saying goes, you can have it fast or you can have it good. With Kate Griffin you get it fast and you get it good as she effortlessly knocks out a couple of novels a year.

In this book, set in the same London as the Night Mayor (who makes several appearances), Griffin has stuck has struck gold with a great idea. Sharon Li who, for some reason, is afflicted with magical problems, sets up a support group called Magicals Anonymous for people (and, as she discovers, people who aren't people) with problems caused by magic. To her surprise, it's quite successful. Also to her surprise she learns that she's a shaman and the only one (with a little help from her new friends) who can deal with a magical danger that even the Night Mayor can't handle.

And that's pretty much all I'm going to tell you about the plot as I wouldn't want to spoil any of the many pleasures and surprises this book contains. I will tell you that this book contains Griffin's considerable and idiosyncratic gift for description, particularly of London. Being cynical I considered that a. she made it all up, or b. spent hours on Google at street level, or c. walked the streets of London more than anyone who wasn't homeless. After checking her blog it turns out that it's c. 

But back to the point, I just want to make it clear that Griffin is a spectacularly good writer. Not a great one yet but give her five minutes and she will be. She sold her first novel at age 14, under her real name of Catherine Webb she was nominated for the Carnegie Medal in two successive years aged 19 and 20. Now she's reached the ripe old age of 26, I shudder to think how good she'll be in about another ten years. Ten years after that she'll probably be World President, if she can be bothered.

I would just like to point out that the page length of this book is deceptive and that you'll read it fair more quickly than you expected (even allowing for the fact that you'll find it difficult to put down). There are a total of 111 chapters in 438 pages giving an average chapter length of fractionally under 4 pages so there is lots of white space. One chapter just consists of 7 words (8 including the title) and all the same word (excluding the title) which I would quote except for that it might be considered unfair usage to print an entire chapter even for review purposes.

The book would also make the basis for a good TV series. A two-parter, based on the book, to introduce the characters coming together, then several more focusing on one or two of the group. That's on British TV. If the Americans buy it it'll probably be called Magicals Anonymous: Missions Very Impossible.

Anyway, get in on the ground floor so you can boast you were reading Kate Griffin before she took over the world. Plus you'll also get to read a terrific slice of British Urban Fantasy.

GRAPHIC NOVEL REVIEW: SAGA by BRIAN K VAUGHAN & FIONA STAPLES (2012)

A masterpiece in the making?

Among others, writer Vaughan was responsible for the lengthy and deservedly highly praised series Y:The Last Man and the shorter and deservedly less praised (though it wasn't bad by any means) Ex Machina. On the basis of this first volume, he's written his finest work so far, if he doesn't fuck it up as he did with Ex Machina and, to a far lesser extent, with the inevitably anti-climatic end to Y.

I got to the end of this book, put it down, and said aloud, "Wow!"

The plot is simple: two mismatched lovers (he's a pacificist vegetarian magic-user, she isn't) from societies at war with each other are on the run (with their newly born baby) from both sides.

But that's the only thing that's simple. She comes from Landfall, a giant planet and he comes from Wreath, Landfall's very large moon. Rather than destroy each other's worlds, both societies take the battle out into the galaxy and hire other races to help fight their enemy. Most of the races seem to have some human-like resemblance but whether or not this is far future and we're seeing a diverse and vastly diverged humanity or just aliens isn't clear. Even the use of some familiar personal names (like Hazel) may be just a means to ease the reader into the story.

The background is potentially very complicated but Vaughan skillfully (greatly aided by the attractive clean-lined quality of Staples' art) and accessibly establishes the scenario and the characters, both lead and supporting. Our two heroes are very engaging and likeable and all the supporting characters are interesting (such as the hired assassin who will kill children for pay but hates paedophiles; he also has a psychic felinoid). There are no captions and all the narrative is conveyed by dialogue except for the occasional comments by a grown up version of the baby which are woven into the panels in which they occur rather than the conventional box and this works really well.

This isn't kids stuff. It if was a DVD it'd be rated 18 for explicit scenes of a sexual nature, frequent use of (bad) language, nudity, and graphic violence. It's also often funny and, just as often, touching.

The potential of this series is enormous and, from the title, we're in for a long run. 

Side note for Science Fiction buffs: this is wide-screen Baroque SF at its best. Resist that come on if you can.

DVD REVIEWS: CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST SAW THAT!

Being reviews of new editions  of Frankenhooker and Street Trash, two of my favourite cult movies. I had both of these in cheaper editions but they were reissued by the Arrow label which claims to release definitive editions of cult films with lots of extras.It's true that all have reversible covers and an introductory booklet of varying length but their publicity does go overboard in extolling these extras and other virtues which vary wildly. These two movies provide a good example.

Both editions of these films are identical in picture quality and length to the cheapo DVDs I already had. Frankenhooker's sole extra (in addition to the booklet) is a 20 minute making of which, to my disappointment, doesn't include an interview of any kind with Patty Mullen the talented actress who brilliantly plays the title role. Street Trash doesn't include a recent interview with director Denis Muro who moved on bigger and more lucrative things as steadicam boss for people like James Cameron. On the other hand the making of is so long as to need a separate disc which also includes a five minute interview with one of the actresses who married a musician who's been part of the Rolling Stones live band for nearly 30 years.

Now, despite the seeming superficial resemblance between these two movies -low budget, black comedy, bad taste, and the actor James Lorinz- they couldn't be more different in tone.

Frankenhooker is a comedy-horror with the emphasis on comedy and its directed by cult figure Frank Henenlotter of Basket Case fame. When the fiance of electrian and secret mad scientist Jeffrey Franken (Lorinz) is turned into mince by a runaway lawn mower, Jeffrey, who never stops talking to himself, rescues her head and a few other body parts. He keeps these fresh in a tank while he works out a way to revive her, taking dinner with her head and thoughtfully pours wine into her mouth and you can guess where the wine goes next. He finally decides to murder some hookers with a supercrack he's invented and use their body parts. Yes, this is the exploding hookers movie. Needless to say it mostly goes wrong though he does manage to revive the girl which then goes wrong again as, dominated by the instincts of a dozen hookers and quoting chunks of their earlier dialogue, she goes on a customer rampage, blowing up everyone with whom she comes in physical contact. It all ends with a mass of revived pissed-off hooker parts, their pimp, the title character, and I won't spoil what happens to our anti-hero. 

The gore on show is cartoon gore with little or no attempt at realism. The exploding hookers are clearly store dummies, not even bits of dead animals, so you can laugh without even the faintest wince. Some of the reanimated parts are a bit disturbing to look at but nothing too grotesque. There is, however, frequent female nudity, copious bad language, drug taking, sexual references by the bucket load which makes it all the more astonishing to me that this DVD (despite the sleeve above) was given a 15 rating. The BBFC really have got lenient.

Basically it's an entertaining romp, a real crowd pleaser for cult and horror movie buffs and my favourite of the director's movies. It's also curiously inoffensive and good-natured, a description which could not remotely be applied to Street Trash.

And if you're easily offended, look away now.

Here's my original 5* Amazon review entitled: 

Oh, you'veneverseenanythinglikeitinyourlife.

 You really haven't. However, let's get one thing straight right away.

This is not a horror movie.

That's right, this isn't a horror movie. Oh sure, there is horror in it, but the body-melting of the Tenafly Viper drink is just the macguffin. Apart from introducing it early on in the movie it doesn't play that much of a part until near the end.

What this really is is a movie about society's invisibles, the street people on the fringes that we pretend we don't see -the winos, the derelicts, the brain-damaged, the lost, all struggling to survive one day at a time. Without the horror element I doubt if this film could have been made. And if it hadn't been made as a black comedy (often more often black than comic) it would have been completely unbearable.

Technically, it's more than accomplished. The camera-work is fluid, the image is crisp, the editing sharp, and the ensemble acting is mostly of a high standard. You are in the hands of people who know exactly what they are doing which is to create a genuinely enjoyable and original film. At least for those who can take the brutality and squalor along with the humour and the gore.

I think it's an amazing piece of work that should be far better known than it is. In its own ugly way, this is Art.

Watching it again over five years later I have no reason whatsoever to change my opinion in the slightest. Seeing as I don't need to avoid spoilers, I will just mention a few elements and one caveat. The horror macguffin is the only cartoony element in it when someone disintegrates into a distorted gooey multi-coloured  mass which is out of tone with the rest of the movie and completely disappears for the second of the three acts. On the other hand you've got a game of catch using a freshly severed penis with penis's owner trying to get it back, brutality, rape and necrophilia (both thankfully off-screen), completely untitillating sex scenes, and more. But horrifying and comic as it is, this is also a film with a genuine heart and compassion. Perhaps they're well-hidden but they're there.

EDUCATION: PHYSICAL EDUCATION (P.E.) LESSONS AT SCHOOL

Blogging about joining a gym reminded me of PE lessons at Bede Grammar School, Sunderland during the early 60's. 

Bede was a very traditional grammar school with high standards and regular use of corporal punishment. In my first year as a small nervous eleven year old I remember getting caned on my left hand for the crime of spelling wrongly the name of a composer the music teacher had just dictated to us. Teachers wore gowns, clouds of cigarette smoke poured out of the staff room when the door was opened, and PE teachers were bastards, Or so my admittedly fallible memory tells me. No matter, if I get anything wrong, my old friend Barry, whom I've known since the age of eleven, probably since our first day at Bede, will let me know.

We got PE twice a week in the gym which, by today's standards, was a bleak and basic affair consisting of wall to wall wall bars, hanging ropes, mats, and a couple of things you jump on or vault (if you can) over (see above). As you might gather I was pretty crap at PE. For one thing I couldn't touch my toes. One day, the teacher, a thug named Ellis, decided he'd make me touch my toes by getting me to bend over and force my arms down by pressing on my shoulders. Because of his limited knowledge of the subtleties of anatomy, he didn't realise I couldn't do it because I had short tendons behind my knees and it was just physically impossible for me. Luckily he gave up before something in my legs tore. 

The gym got a new piece of equipment, a trampette (a miniature trampoline) designed to help with vaulting over the horse. Ellis was the first to try it but didn't read the instruction manual (if one had come with it). He charged at the trampette, jumped on it with all his weight which resulted in him sailing completely over the horse and landing flat on his face. Alas I am reporting this second hand as I wasn't there to witness it. Alas.

Needless to say, I and all the other kids with an athletic ability comparable to mine weren't his favourite pupils. Climb ropes -I'd get a few feet off the ground and give up. Forward roll -well, yes I could actually accomplish that but anything more complicated was pretty much beyond me.  I do remember eventually managing to vault completely over the vaulting horse but it was a close thing.

There were physical activities other than PE, however, which fell under the dreaded category of Sport. To be honest, even though I wasn't much good, I did quite like playing football. I was usually one of the last to get picked and usually ended up as a back. Never in goal as with my short sightedness it was a case of 'what ball where?'. My experiences of cricket provided me with the basis of a lifetime loathing for the boring game. Then there was cross country running which consisted of three laps around both football pitches, up a bank, around the rugby pitch, down and back to the football pitch, repeat with increasing breathlessness. 

And then came a surprise some time in my thirteenth year. My class was running in heats to discover who, if any of us, were good enough to qualify for the school athletics sports day. I was in the heat for the 100 yards with about ten others and much to my surprise and that of everyone else, I found myself shooting past people and winning the heat. The next heat was the best eight (I'm making these numbers up, I can't remember) of the class. Ahead me was Eddy Algy the class athlete who glanced back at the pursuing field and was shocked to find me hot on his heels and he had to up his pace (which he did easily) to avoid an embarrassing defeat. He gave me some respect after that. So I was about the second best in my class at the 100 yards dash. Nothing else mind you, being short, stocky with flat feet and no stamina aren't the best characteristics for a runner.

Once I got into the 6th Form it was easier to avoid games, though I once did let my best friend of the time talk me into playing football with the rest of the class. I have to say I didn't make a pigs ear out my role as a back (defence as it's called now -is it?). When I was put in goal for a while, my friend told me I showed great bravery diving at the booted feet of my classmates to stop the ball going in. When it came to saving a penalty, however, it was what ball where.

Post Script.

After I finished school I went to Ormskirk teacher training college on the windy south west Lancashire plain where I fell in with a bunch of enthusiastic fell-walkers (I'd got a taste for fell-walking on  holiday the previous two summers) and also swam a lot in the college pool, even played badminton now and again. It may have been the fittest time of my life. But sport or gym, forget it.