The Little World

This is the second day of the hobby shop siege and the management hasn’t gotten me out yet. I’ve holed up behind the paint racks and taken hostages. Police negotiators have turned spotlights onto the acrylics but I am refusing to budge until my demands are met. I have sent out a manifesto and have ordered that it be read in all hobby clubs in the metro area:

a. No more orphan paint sets from illegitimate backyard makers. All future paints must be soluble in either meths, water, or mineral turps. Or at least soluble in something.

b. No more numbering systems. All paints to be clearly labelled as to what they are. Labelled in English and with letters big enough to be read without the use of an electron microscope. And no fashion magazine words used. Puce and Fuchsia are not words – they are crazy talk.

c. No more Mustang kits, P-51 or Ford. Half the plastic on the planet is already moulded into a Mustang and any more will just destabilise the magnetic fields.

d. No more R/C dune buggies/Baja racers until you have eaten the last lot. And cleaned up the scraps.

e. Toys R Us has tanked and so has Thomas the Engine. Basta. Genug. Assez.

f. Anyone makes any false moves and I hit the foam plastic airplanes with lacquer thinner. I mean it. Stay back. You’ve seen Ghostbusters and you know it won’t end well…

g. The staff does not eat spaghetti Bolognese at the counter unless they’ve brought enough for everyone.