The other day I found a pile of old comics. Twenty or more issues of Sonic the Comic. Those were enjoyable stories, kind of an expanded universe for a game series that had no real story (c'mon, it was a blue hedgehog that ran really fast). Not all comics are valuable and these certainly weren't. Spring cleaning time was here and they had to go.
Still, they brought back fond memories of trips with my dad into town, when my only source of comics was John Menzies (now WHSmith). Pre-pubescent me had no idea there were places dedicated to comics. That's fine, because pre-pubescent me would have made my dad poorer. I didn't know how to look after comics either. Both are equally bad.
I think my first experience with a proper comic book shop was around 1998. I still had a year to go before starting high school and one of the kids brought in his grotesque Resident Evil action figures. We also got to read his Resident Evil comics, which were full of violence and gore. In case you haven't guessed, this guy was a big Resident Evil fan. He mentioned the name of this shop. I had to go there.
That started an on and off affair with comics and collectibles. A few Marvel comics here, some Simpsons comics, a little bit of Batman. That was when I could get them. My parents ran a busy takeaway and a drive to the west end on a saturday to pick up comics was not high on the agenda. Also, high school got in the way.
Believe it or not, I only got serious about collecting comics and treating them as an art form 5 years ago. I started reading complex and mature pieces of work such as the Walking Dead, Hellboy, Sandman and delving into some of Marvel's older stuff. Then my work as a trainee pharmacist began in earnest and suddenly I had a salary that made 22 year old me feel rich. I was bathing in showers of £10 bank notes and all that nonsense.
Fun times.
Fun times.
Comments