| |
|
|
I am ten years old and waiting expectantly in the dark at the Saturday morning matinee. It's the cinema (always called the 'flea pit' for some reason) where parents sent the kids to get them out of their hair for a couple of hours and where we now wait to see how Flash Gordon escaped from that ridiculous cliff-hanger that the Emperor Ming so cruelly left him (or Dale, his girlfriend) in last week.
The things that fascinated me most were the gadgets. Ming could see and speak to his cohorts over vast distances on a small box with a screen. If only there were such a thing and I could have one! We ran home - our coats tied around our necks like cloaks - talking to each other on the empty cig packets that were always lying around.
The clock spins and I can see and talk to my confreres anywhere on the Earth (at least the ones that have not left it) on a small box with a screen.
The only sad thing is that those inexorable myrmidons are still trying to take over the world and will crush everything in their path order to achieve their egomaniacal aims . . . . .
Where's Flash when you need 'im.
|
|
|
|
