Chewy

Some people like to collect things and can get quite obsessive about it.

In my younger days I can remember the excitement of buying a packet of football cards for, in old money, sixpence or the decimal equivalent of two and a half new pence. It was a thrill  ripping the paper packet apart in anticipation of getting that sole card needed to complete the annual for that particular soccer season or my favourite, World Cup Teams of 1970. There was a way of cheating the adrenalin rush by filling in and sending off a section at the back of the album to order those elusive characters direct from the makers ,but how defeatist was that? The task of amassing the full set of cards involved considerable amounts of pocket money and a poker faced approach to swopping and exchanging in the playground with fellow pupils. The exchange rate for that final card could be extortionate but well worth it.

In addition to straightforward collectables there were also sweets and foodstuffs which offered points and rewards that could be redeemed for goods and toys. The most well known and patronised scheme that I can remember was Bazooka Joe's. This was a type of bubble gum from the US, bright pink as a consequence of potentially carcinogenic artificial colourings and additives, and with a faintly linseed putty taste and odour.

The actual flavour burst lasted only seconds but wrapped around the gum was a glossy, multi-folded paper slip with fabulously mysterious small print descriptions ,and very hazy images, of what was on offer. I was particularly attracted to the prospect of , in exchange for an almost unattainable-in-a-lifetime number of tokens ,a fully working camera. All of my pocket money and accrued life savings were directed towards the acquisition of enough tokens to get that camera. In some cases the bubble gum was discarded immediately outside the corner shop but the token whisked away like Gollum and that ring. Eventually, it must have been over a couple of summers, I reached the target and sent off the tokens with a Postal Order to  a very vague PO Box number down South.

In retrospect I may have been supporting a massive illegal business with my purchase of gum. Joe and his Bazooka could have been an offshoot of organised crime, a vast laundering operation for drug money or the proceeds of prostitution and trafficking. I could imagine the great variety of toys catalogued in the gum packets slips being produced in a child labour sweat shop in some far off land with no regard for the health, welfare and safety of the small fingered assembly line workers.

The ordering details promised a delivery period of 21 days. I was first to the letterbox every subsequent morning in expectation of the camera arriving. It was some months later that a scruffy package was found on the doormat. The contents did comprise a camera but what a load of crap it was. Cheap, thin plastic. Hong Kong's finest output of 1975. Flimsy parts. The lens was an opaque, brittle circle complimenting the equally foggy viewfinder. A roll of 35mm film when inserted into the back compartment prevented the camera being closed. The film advance and rewind levers rotated aimlessly. The focus ring did not move at all. As for the FFF-ing stops I cannot, even now many decades later, find adequate profane words to express my devastation at the discovery of the rubbish over which I had sacrificed so much time ,money and anguish. The jury is still out for consideration of the longer term health implications of the stubborn pink hued residues of bubble gum nestling in my colon.

I was heartbroken. In the scary and lonely wee small hours of subsequent nights of disppointment broken sleep I worked out that I had spent enough on the bubble gum scam to actually buy a real camera along with a selection of lenses, a tripod and a natty bag to keep it all in. I may have foregone an opportunity to become a top photographer by my obsessive behaviour towards collecting things. It is much too difficult to dwell on that matter now.

Damn you Bazooka Joe!