THE SANGER COLLECTION
or:
How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Fact I'm a Geek
(and Forever Shall Be)

In the mid-Seventies I was born.

There then followed a crushingly uneventful chain of events which lead to my present bromidic state. But at the beginning there was still hope. A new hope. (Although back then it was just called 'Star Wars' - which I think has a better ring to it.)

During those early days, the woods behind my house became anything from the jungles of South America 1936, to the forest moon of Endor a long time ago. Fluffy brown towels borrowed from my mum were tucked into my pyjama top and instantly became the elegant cape of a (curiously discoloured) superhero. And the zoom-lens of my dad's Pentax became a brilliant tool in creating a gun-barrel logo sequence for the Sanger brothers' Super-8 secret agent epics. (They have yet to gain theatrical distribution.)

This period also saw the beginnings of what you now find here. Namely, my film collection. I bought books and magazines and action figures and cups and badges and tapes and records. Each item allowed me to dip again into the universe of the film which inspired it. Each item was of profound value to me. Each item was therefore a target for my mother who would occasionally spirit them away - a trading card here, an action figure there - and kindly donate them to local charity shops or Bric-a-Brac stalls at the village f
ête. Thankfully, her nefarious activities were curtailed when I rumbled her and sobbed my objections.

I was 22 years old.

Since then I have been restoring those thieved items, and adding yet more treasures to what is becoming an impressively mediocre collection. But rest assured, what it lacks in scale or intrinsic value, it makes up for in childish adoration (from me).

And now I share it with the world.

Or at least with you. The one who read this far. The one who stayed...

Who on earth are you?


(Only the penitent man will pass)