Alan's trading cards brought back fond memories of moral panic and parental disapproval, which provided the necessary ingredients for social bonding among junior school kids back in the day. It's difficult to explain to modern youth how companies preyed on our completist genes and proto-nerdery by offering picture cards of TV and comic spin-offs with a stick of gum.
Children would sport a huge deck of repeats - 'swaps' as they were known - flicking the cards towards a wall, the winner gaining any card his own touched. One series, Batman, provided an early lesson in Tulipomania and it still echoes down the years. I had a whole pristine set, except one featuring Robin, a card that was practically unknown among our gang, the only example being an extremely dog-eared item owned by a boy some distance away.
No doubt companies released cards in phases but the feeding frenzy for this particular image unbalanced young minds and my own was no different. I plotted to acquire The Last One. The boy was unmoved by my pleas to swap but agreed to examine what else I might have to trade and I laid out my worldly goods in the back yard awaiting his approval.
There was nothing he wanted except one item that interested him, a monstrous hairy latex glove. Its value was completely disproportionate to the trading card, creased and grubby as it was, but I was so far over a barrel I'd have given my soul to the half-pint Mephistopheles. He walked away with my glove and I placed the tatty picture of Robin, so unlike the rest of the pack, in its slot.
The inevitable happened and within days the streets were flooded with The Robin Card and the bottom fell out of the market as every last arriviste sported a complete set, while my rubber hand was terrifying children by appearing round walls in another district entirely.
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.
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