Ow, Lego!

The world is in a mess. I can’t remember when there has been such a barrage of incoming reports of simultaneous civil unrest in so many disparate places at once. Just when one situation seems to be calming down somebody lobs a fire-bomb into another hornets’ nest and it all kicks off again. After a while one becomes hardened to strife and inured to such reports, so long as it’s not right on the doorstep. Then suddenly comes chilling news of such universal significance it simply can’t be ignored.

Lego has lost the plot and people are being hurt. It turns out that Lego figures are getting angry and some fear, hysterically, that it could be harming children’s development. (Go on, read the article) My big, fat, arse. What’s far more likely to hinder their development is continually being pushed off the swings by the other big daft child in the household – the one they call Dad - who is desperate to build their toy for them and deny the kids the rewards of their labour and invention

They didn't have Lego characters when I was growing up. There were maybe a couple of dozen different sizes and colours of brick and that was your lot. If you wanted characters you had to make your own, using your hands AND YOUR IMAGINATION. That was the whole frickin’ point. You invariably didn’t have enough bricks or you ran out of the colour you wanted, but that shortfall was part of the game. You learned to muddle through, make do and most important of all, be British about it. (Back in the day ‘being British’ really didn’t include blabbing to matron, strikes and strife, high court action, suicide bombing and the hacking to death in the street of people with whom you disagreed ; you sucked it up and got on with it.) Crappy, primary-coloured bricks and the disappointment they brought were an integral part of developing the stiff upper lip so lacking today.

Lego figures were only introduced in 1975 (I was preparing to leave for university – I’m so old my first form of transport was a hoop and a stick.) but I wasn't aware they existed until about five years ago when I learned that grown men were playing with them. “Huh?” was my reaction, but then, hey whatever, at least they’re doing man things – building stuff. But then I saw them, the figures and the boxes with fantastically detailed models, all designed by somebody else. These man-boys aren't using Lego, they’re just assembling pre-made stuff –it’s like IKEA and Lego combined and formed a task force. What is this, a Scandinavian invasion? A Scandinvasion? First the EU and now this? What is happening to the world?

And once you get pre-designed Lego which practically builds itself, you may as well have jigsaws that come ready assembled, and video games where the characters are already shot up for you – Oh I forgot, you already do; that’s what passes for blockbuster movie entertainment these days. What next, pre-read books? You may as well be delivered straight into a coffin – cradle to grave – and miss out all the boring stuff we call life if you’re not prepared to work on building your own character.

Lego is supposed to lie around the floor as a lurking, foot-stabbing, man-trap. It’s not supposed to be a sodding work of art for lily-livered, pampered, namby-pamby, milk sop, wet-behind-the-ears brats... whatever their age. As for the characters, Lego just isn't meant to have emotions – it’s a bunch of bright bricks that loosely stick together, with which you can have a few years of inventive fun before you turn to more grown-up things like getting qualifications and turning yourself into a contributing member of society.

My Lego model of Britain under Socialism

(You have to use your imagination!)

 Lego figures angry? No wonder they’re bloody angry – they have to do all the work.