TV Cream Toys Lite. Steve Berry

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      Possibly the last bike ever to adopt that penny-farthing-inspired differently-sized wheel ratio, the Chopper was (as designer Tom Karen has gone on record saying) intended to reflect the power and style of a dragster. Those ‘apehanger’ handlebars mimicked the customised Californian motorbikes of the ’60s–think Dennis Hopper’s Harley in Easy Rider. The overlong banana seat and spring-mounted saddle conjured up the desired ‘hot rod’ image. It sounds impressive but doesn’t quite explain where the goolie-knackering crossbar-mounted gear shift was supposed to fit in. Nevertheless, about two million of the frigging things were sold (and there are two million adults with the healed-over grazes to prove it).

      See also Racing Bike, Spacehopper, Peter Powell Stunter Kite

The colour of Chopper you owned would reflect your personality–if not at first, then soon enough by means of customisation with reflectors, spokey-dokeys, mirrors and lights (chunky boxes of battery-powered plastic or sleek wheel-rim-driven dynamos), bottle-carriers and panniers–and be invested with great dedication and pride (except maybe when it came to cleaning it). Mainly, though, a Chopper (like any bike) would unlock a world of adventure beyond the end of your own street; going to your mates’ houses, picking up comics from the corner shop, stickleback fishing, popping wheelies, giving backies, racing–it was all for the taking.² Well, as long as there weren’t any hills en route. Choppers were not good with incline ratios. Your legs weren’t strong enough to pedal uphill and any pressure on the brake going downhill invariably sent you over the crossbar.

      The advent of the BMX in the early ’80s put paid to the simple pleasure of owning a bulky, rusty, aggressively designed death-trap and turned the bike trade into a genuine, even respected, sporting industry As sales plummeted, the previously distinctive Raleigh brand saw out the era it helped to define making run-of-the-mill mountain bikes, city bikes and something now referred to as a hybrid, whatever that is.

1 Believe it or not, the kids’ bike industry in the Cream era was virtually a closed shop; Raleigh alone manufactured the Budgie, Tomahawk, Striker, Chipper, Chopper, Boxer and Grifter, so all that brand rivalry and envy kids wilfully engaged in was just a false war perpetuated by The Man. The likes of Elswick, Dawes and Falcon–the other independent British kids’ bike makers of the day–have since been absorbed by bigger companies or gone to the wall.

2 What do kids have now? Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell? Shove it up your fat, sofa-bound arse. Nothing beats the thrill of riding a bike without stabilisers for the first time. For crying out loud, does anyone even bother with the cycling proficiency test any more?

       Chutes Away

      Discreetly named air-war leviathan

‘Chutes’ be damned! This was, to all intents and purposes, Carpet Bombing For Fun, as evinced by the explosion noises made by playing kids as they dropped the ‘chutes’ on the revolving target, curiously painted up to look like some presumably inconspicuous fictional landmass, although it did resemble a sort of pre-continental-drift Africa, now we come to think of it.¹

Anyway, the stout bomber–sorry, troop carrier²–was mounted on a robust gantry and controlled by one of those initially-exciting-looking, dial-heavy flight-deck consoles that, on closer inspection, turns out to have just two actual controls (three, if you include the off switch), the rest being useless stickers.³ Ah well.

      As the ground spun relentlessly beneath, you would position your plane fore and aft, look through the crosshairs, wait for a target to come into view, and then bombs–er, chutes–away! Get all ten in the waiting cups below and you win.

      In a desperate attempt to reinforce the liberation-not-annihilation element, a lesser-known sequel game was eventually introduced–Night Rescue Chutes Away- although the good intentions were slightly undermined by its description as a ‘target’ game. The difference here? Your paratroopers could be dropped in the dark because there was a spotlight stuck under the plane.

      In theory, this exciting development could have been a major USP, allowing as it did for the possibility of covert, post-curfew playtime. Unfortunately, the clockwork turntable that drove the thing made so much bloody noise, we might as well’ve had an actual plane in there with us.

      Anyway, it was all good clean Dresden fun, brought to you by the good people of Gabriel. Gabriel?! No, us neither.

       See also Vertibird, Up Periscope, Flight Deck

1 So much so that we’ll put money on it that the Chutes Away landscape is directly responsible for the look and feel of every British safari park since the 70s. Those of a more political sensitivity could also flip the card over and draw in their own Falkland Islands-themed felt-tip topography, natch.

2 A twin-prop yellow-and-white airbus that could’ve just roared out of the opening titles for Tales of the Gold Monkey.

3 One of which was a red Important! Read instructions first!’ label that might as well’ve been stuck there by your parents. Along with the ones that said ‘Don’t break it, it cost a lot of money!’ and ‘Let your brother have a go! It’s for sharing!’ Cuh! Talk about the nanny state–as if anyone reads the instructions first anyway.

       Cluedo

      After-dinner Agatha Christie

      Cluedo seemed to appear out of nowhere as some murdery-mystery rival to Monopoly. In fact, it was devised by a solicitor’s clerk from Birmingham (the home of many unsolved crimes, we’re saying–the Bullring and Spaghetti Junction to name but two). Posh kids had it first, probably because it featured a ‘study’ and a ‘drawing room’, but it wasn’t long before the whole street was testing their detective skills with miniature tools of death and cards that you had to keep in little wallets like After Eights.

      Essentially a glorified board version of 20 Questions (just keep asking until you guess whodunit, where-they-dunit and with what) but featuring murder, it stirred the nascent serial killer in many a small child. Show us a grown-up who claims they didn’t secretly want to see Mrs White bludgeoned to death with the lead pipe in the bedroom, and we’ll show you a suspiciously new-looking patio out in their back yard. (Of course, this almost-amusing observation conveniently ignores the fact that the actual murder victim–Dr Black–couldn’t simultaneously be one of the players. Neither could you record a verdict of suicide СКАЧАТЬ