As a child, I’d often sit transfixed by the television adverts and marvel at the spectacular toys on offer and, like many children, nag relentlessly to my parents to buy them for me for Christmas.
One year, Action Man underwent a major makeover. He now sported a fuzzy crewcut, had eagle-eyes – which presumably made him attractive to any falconry enthusiasts – and gripping hands that could make him speed down a zip wire.
So, imagine my disappointment on Christmas day when I was presented with Action Man (Mark 1) with regular plastic hair, painted on static eyes and stiff moulded hands. The nearest he came to using a zip wire was when I painstakingly slid him down the washing line, avoiding my dad’s constantly greying underpants.
This was no life for a soldier and, if he wasn’t moulded to look serious, I’m sure he would have looked embarrassed.
I always thought his name was ridiculously misleading. Why was he called Action Man when he was unable to move on his own?
You had to turn his head, lift his arms and swing his legs for him. It was as though he had been shot and paralysed in a previous toy war and arrived solely for you to give him physiotherapy and help him get dressed and undressed.
He should have been called “Inaction Man.”
He has so much difficulty doing any activity without assistance or moving around on his own, he should now come with some PIP claim forms and you could register as his full-time carer.
Seeing the obvious mobility problems he had, the makers later provided him with a jeep and a tank to get around, making him look pretentious.
And despite all his guns, rifles and weaponry, he never had an actual enemy to fight, so what was the point? Although he’d probably kill Barbie’s Ken in a jealous rage.
Here’s hoping you all get exactly what you want for Christmas.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Categories:Christmas
Russ Writes 
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