OK, so it's not *actually* them, of course; as much as I'd like to, I'm not in the habit of holding soirees in my living room for Hollywood stars. And if I was it's pretty doubtful I'd be able to convince them to turn up in character (although it wouldn't be for want of trying).
No, the reason I have Quinto-Spock and Pine-Kirk in my living room is, essentially, because of Best Mate Jo. Back in 2008, y'see, she topped off an utterly shite year with one of the best birthday presents a strapping young lad like me could get: she somehow, possibly using her
boobs sassy feminine wiles, managed to get me the complete set of teaser posters for the new J.J. Abrams Star Trek movie. Now, remember this was a full six months before the film came out, and fanboys the world over were going mental at the prospect of trying to get hold of these; I can say that with absolute authority because I was one of them.
I distinctly remember the moment I got home and opened the large cardboard tube she'd given me, because the moment I unfurled the role of posters within I got a special tingly feeling all over, squealed like a girl, then passed out. She totally nailed her role as Best Mate Jo.
Since then, I've been promising, and promising, and PROMISING that I would get at least some of them framed and hoisted up on to the wall. I don't think I can manage all eight, because quite frankly they're big buggers (69 x 102cm) and Sparky Towers is quite
small intimate cosy. On the downside, this would require me to be proactive, which any visitor to Sparky Towers will tell you I'm not because I've not bothered to put any pictures on the walls yet; they're all lined up around the skirting boards like I'm about to flee the country.
As a result, those eight beautiful posters have remained rolled up in the cardboard tube they were given to me in a year and a half ago. It still has the ribbon and pretty bow on it.
But a miraculous thing happened a few months ago: I actually took the posters out and measured them. Of course, the sheer fact that I said 'a few months ago' meant that I then put them back in the cardboard tube and rolled it back under my bed where it could continue to gather dust and begin to look unerringly like something Indiana Jones would bung under his arm as he escaped from a horde of Nazis in that funny running style that makes it look a bit like he's shat his pants.
Two weeks ago, however, I awoke one Sunday morning to find an email from allposters.co.uk. If, like me, you've ever bought anything off this website, you'll know that they do like to send you plenty of email vouchers. I tend to ignore these for the most part, though, because however enticing 20% OFF EVERYTHING IN THE STORE! might sound, you know if you wait another week they'll send you one for 25% PERCENT OFF EVERYTHING IN THE STORE! On this particular day, though, I decided I'd leap into action at their offer of 22% OFF EVERYTHING IN THE STORE! and specced up a shopping basket with two 69 x 102cm clip frames. The total was a mere 21 quid. I was well excited.
That is until the moment I was just about to hit the confirm sale button, when a brief glimpse at the total payment figure made me do a double take that a Looney Tunes character would've been proud of; I swear my eyes shot out on stalks. They wanted £26 for postage. TWENTY-SIX POUNDS?! The postage was more than the two frames! Outrageous! I deleted both items, huffed audibly (which was pointless because no one was around to hear it), and watched Lesbian Vampire Killers instead. It was surprisingly enjoyable.
Anyway, allposters.co.uk being allposters.co.uk, I only had to wait a short while before they emailed me another of their awe-inspiringly frequent special offers. And oh-boy, oh-boy, this one was definitely worth waiting for, because it was for FREE POSTAGE.
I headed straight for their site, added two 69 x 102 cm clip frames to my shopping basket, tapped in the voucher code and … BINGO! I was so excited that I shouted "PYSCHE!" in a way that "pysche" hasn't been shouted since the mid to late 90s.
Fast forward to yesterday, when the frames were delivered to the office. While I delighted in inviting various colleagues to "come checkout my massive package," my enthusiasm dimmed when it became apparent that the packaging in which the frames had been delivered would not fit in Clubbie. I think you'll agree that constitutes a massive FAIL. I considered various solutions from tilting them in the boot slightly to hack-sawing Clubbie down the centre in order to add some extra width. Ultimately the easiest solution was to simply take the frames out of the packaging, then strap them securely together with gaffer tape. This was satisfactory on several levels, not least of which was the fact that, being a boy, I love wasting copious amounts of gaffer tape by wrapping it around and around and around things.
Eventually, and with noticeably less arm hair than I had when I began, I had taped the two frames together in such a way that they would comfortably fit in Clubbie's boot and still be decently protected should I decide to randomly take a shortcut home via a very bumpy cobbled street (although in hindsight, if you've driven down any of the horrifically potholed roads I take to and from work, you'll probably agree that a very bumpy cobbled street would be infinitely preferable).
And so, much fun ensued in Sparky Towers Friday evening as I wrestled the Pine-Kirk and Quinto-Spock posters out of the tube (inevitably they'd somehow found their way into the middle of the roll so I had to sift through ALL OF THEM) and set about encasing them in their new plastic and chipboard homes. Honestly, if I'd known how exciting I'd find popping two posters in clip frames to be I would've done it a long time ago.
Shall we have some photographs?
Here's the frames safely entombed in my rudimentary stripped down version of the packaging they came in. As you can clearly see, I did a very neat and professional job of it. You can barely tell the difference.
Here, the two posters are weighed down by Star Trek comics (yes, I'm a nerd, get over it) and an unopened Amazon package as I attempt to reverse the effects of 18 months spent rolled up in a cardboard tube. Pine-Kirk is under Quinto-Spock, thus fulfilling the fantasy of many Star Trek slash-fiction authors.
For some unfathomable reason I decided to perform the framing operation on my bed. I guess if things started to go wrong I could've pillow-fought the bastard into submission.
The moment I almost suffered an aneurysm; note how the dimensions on the frame say 68 x 101cm, not the 69 x 102cm that the posters measure, and which I specifically ordered. Fortunately, some dumbo obviously can't measure properly because the posters fit perfectly (and no, before you say it, I am not referring to myself as a dumbo. I can measure extremely well, thank you very much; lord knows as an insecure young gentleman I've practised on my penis enough).
Quinto-Spock in place and the protective wrapper coming off the plastic. I'd like to say glass, but it's plastic. That doesn't make it any less classy though. This bit was fun. Just thought I'd say that.
And here's Quinto-Spock all done and dusted…
… And Pine-Kirk. Bunging up access to my bookshelf and generally getting in the way. Bad Pine-Kirk, bad. I don't think Shatner-Kirk would do that. He'd be chillaxing on the sofa with a cognac and a fat cigar most probably.
All in all, then, I'm WELL HAPPY. Well, aside from the fact that I'd managed to put the Quinto-Spock poster in upside down so the hangy bit (please note official technical term) was at the bottom rather than at the top, which would've made hanging the damn thing a tad awkward; don't worry, I unclipped it all and turned it around with minimal huffing and rolling of eyes at my own
incontinence incompetence. Oh, wait, the hanging thing. Hmmm… yes: THAT. Well, with a bit of luck I'll get round to getting them on the wall before another 18 months is up, not least because Pine is in the way of my bookshelf and threatening to hog the sofa too.
Before you sigh and whisper "thank god THAT poorly-written example of procrastination is out of the way," I just thought I'd mention that today is not my first, not my second, not my third, but it is in fact my *squeal!* fourth blog anniversary. Or bloggyversary. Or blogday. I don't know what the correct term is - whatever! Either way, I'm raising my glass to you, dear reader, for sticking with me this far. I don't know where we're going from here, but quite frankly it can't really get any worse.
Or can it…!? Duh-duh-daaaaaaaah!