Looking like a vulcanised Gonzo or other freak cast-off from the Henson workshop, Finger Frights promised “hours of joy for a girl or boy”, or so cried the nicotine-stained street trader who sold them out of a suitcase in the city centre. (The same scruffy fella later made a living peddling Gordon the Gopher squeaky hand puppets, only to return the following year with exactly the same stock dyed pink and touted as Mr Blobby.)