June 12th, 2011 at 4:21 pm by Stupid Rubbish

It’s December 1979.

I’m laying carelessly on my stomach intently viewing a large, wooden-cased black and white television. The house is oppressively warm and my shoeless feet are waving around in front of a steel and wood-effect gas fire. The thick brown carpet invites me to embed myself into it, the house is filled with Christmas decorations and a large green plastic tree dominates the bay window.

I am immeasurably mesmerised by the images I see before me. Incredibly, the film I was watching was already over 20 years old even then. The 7th Voyage of Sinbad was created and produced by the genius of Ray Harryhausen over half a century ago now, but something of the indefinable magic inside those moving pictures seems somehow immortal to me.

Whenever I see those tell-tale flickering, stop-motion monsters and super exposed colours moving on a television screen I feel within me a sensation from the past that I had all but lost.

Familiar but forgotten smells and textures combine with the implicit warmth and safety of childhood and envelop me as a comforting counter-point to that tiny spark of pure adventure.

It’s a bit like being instantly and internally reminded of that pure innocence of childhood, just for a second…

Just long enough to miss it, hugely, as the world before me drifts back into focus and I realise I am an ‘adult’ again and I am never going to find my way back to that place.

It’s June 2011… f*ck.

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