FimoColoured Belgian clay you baked in the oven to make it hard. On the packet they would have these intricately carved works of art, obviously created by immensely talented Belgian children whose craft-making skills were far superior to my own because all I managed to create was a brown lump. But at least I got to bake it in the oven.
Matchbox cars
Yesterday my mum got out a big box of Matchbox cars for my 2-year old nephew to play with. Almost 50 of my treasures, collected over what was at the time a lifetime of obsessing over which was going to be the the next acquisition. While I can't remember what time I'm supposed to be picking my wife up from work this afternoon, I was able to tell young Alex exactly which cars were mine and which I stole from my brother, the manner in which many of them had lost their paint (the Jaguar was the heaviest and the red Ferrari had the thickest paint - win to the Jag), which would fly furthest when you rig up the track down off a chair and over a jump, and in a almost disturbing bit of recollection from two decades previous, the order that I would have them arranged on the window sill when they weren't being played with.
A largely good-natured argument ensued when I informed my mother that the cars were mine and I'd be taking them back, and she to my shock and disdain tried to say that she had bought them, so they were hers. This isn't over.
And once a year in early November, we got $2 to buy as many Pohas (Maori for firecracker) as we wanted. Man I miss those.
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Mon 30 Aug 2010, 22:50,
archived)
Matchbox cars
Yesterday my mum got out a big box of Matchbox cars for my 2-year old nephew to play with. Almost 50 of my treasures, collected over what was at the time a lifetime of obsessing over which was going to be the the next acquisition. While I can't remember what time I'm supposed to be picking my wife up from work this afternoon, I was able to tell young Alex exactly which cars were mine and which I stole from my brother, the manner in which many of them had lost their paint (the Jaguar was the heaviest and the red Ferrari had the thickest paint - win to the Jag), which would fly furthest when you rig up the track down off a chair and over a jump, and in a almost disturbing bit of recollection from two decades previous, the order that I would have them arranged on the window sill when they weren't being played with.
A largely good-natured argument ensued when I informed my mother that the cars were mine and I'd be taking them back, and she to my shock and disdain tried to say that she had bought them, so they were hers. This isn't over.
And once a year in early November, we got $2 to buy as many Pohas (Maori for firecracker) as we wanted. Man I miss those.
ah fimogreat stuff, though it'd always take ages to warm it up in your hands enough for it to go sufficiantly soft to work with.
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ms morbo lorem ipsum dolor sit amet,
Mon 30 Aug 2010, 23:47,
archived)