When I were
a young ‘un the Star Wars films were
re-released in the cinema. I went with the Beaver Scouts and found myself
watching A New Hope, despite actually
wanting to see Who Framed Roger Rabbit-aping
basketball extravaganza Space Jam. You
see: our lovely-yet-rapidly-aging leaders thought a film about a traffic jam in
space would be a bit boring for a bunch of eight year olds, which is fair
enough, however off-target their interpretations of the conspicuously
vehicle-free poster were. At the same time the lovely people at Walkers crisps
decided that all the children, regardless of their moviegoing preferences,
would benefit from sharing in the great warmth generated by the beloved
cinematic series. They started hiding little plastic
Pog-like disks in bags of their delicious snacking aids, all of which were
emblazoned with a precious image from the hallowed Star Wars history books. I never managed to get a full set of
fifty, but that wasn’t really the
point; I satiated my internal hunger to seek stability and security for a
bit and managed to help a
$10billion-plus corporation achieve its lofty profit goals for the year. That’s
a win-win all day long
in my mind.
