LEGO
Building brick enemy of the vacuum cleaner
For sheer too-excited-to-eat-breakfast thrills, you couldn’t beat tumbling down the stairs of a birthday morning to find a bloody big, rattly box of Technic LEGO waiting for you. You’d just have to pray it wasn’t a school day. The hours would just fly by as you knelt, elbow deep in the most advanced children’s construction set ever, replete with working piston engines, pneumatic hoists, chunky, steerable rubber wheels and – if you were lucky - a working motor. By evening, you’d be driving around a custom dune buggy fork lift truck some seven feet in length. Or so it seemed.
Because that was the dream. The reality was a little different. By and large, LEGO came in intentionally rationed boxed sets of various sizes, each with ostensibly just the one goal – construct whatever was photographed on the lid. Like a scene from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, you’d be thinking yourself lucky if you got a small set once a year. Perhaps just enough to assemble a simple house, car or plane. Or, if you were dreadfully poor, a short wall.
As time went on, you’d be able to add a few of the larger, more flexible, models (a Legoland petrol station or – at the height of Star Wars fever – one of the cool space ships with transparent cockpits, satellite dishes and little astronaut figures) and slavishly follow the illustrated building instructions1, at least the first time you put them together. Thereafter you could start to exercise the full force of your own creativity; making a space car, say, or… erm, a petrol house. Then there were the vocational sets, or the castles, the forts, the pirate ships. There were even some specialist sets designated only “for experienced LEGO builders” of 12 years and older. Experienced? Already our LEGO C.V. looked threadbare.
Two houses along, of course, would be the Verucca Salt type with a huge bin full of LEGO bricks of endless shapes and sizes which she would use to make houses for her dollies. For crying out loud! What about the electric transformer-equipped sets? How exactly were we supposed to be embraced by the LEGO System? What the hell was a Bionicle2?
Of course, we’re showing our age. Kids these days can build and program robots with LEGO Mindstorms3 or create and buy their very own personalized models online at the LEGO Factory4. The vintage stuff we were used to now shifts on eBay by the hundredweight, alongside those lovingly preserved boxed sets that now look clunky by today’s standards (but heck, it’s LEGO, how else is it going to look?).
References (1)
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Response: Good LegoGrasping the concept of Good Lego is utterly crucial to understanding everything.



Reader Comments (13)
I knew someone who had once had almost a whole Lego town in their spare room complete with a Lego train set running round.
He was a member of the Lego club & used to get the magazine Bricks & Pieces, which had a double page spread in each issue dedicated to members custom models, & an Andersonisque comic strip Captain Indigo & Polka Dot.
Those early "themed" sets - especially the STAR WARS ones - seemed so cool and innovative when (a) they were new and (b) we were irritatingly just too old to get away with having them.
Now we see the folly. A New Toy Every Day? Erm, no. A new toy in a few hours' time, after Dad has sacrificed his Christmas dinner to - and this is crucial - assemble it *for* you. Thereafter, a pile of unrecogniseably useless bespoke bits by Boxing Day, and hobbling uncles cursing your name throughout January.
Central to the whole missing-the-bloody-point tragedy of modern LEGO is the fact that kids can already get 100%-accurate models of absolutely any object featured for three seconds in the background of a Harry Potter movie, so why on Earth would they want to waste hours building a LEGO version that will end up looking like... LEGO? We had to put up with it because it was the only way to get a toy Colonial Viper. Today's kids simply don't.
Belatedly, someone in Headquarters Denmark has clearly cottoned on, and begun to turn this crippling limitation into an "ironic" selling point; "Ho ho, it's a TIE fighter - made of LEGO!!!" This strategy has been particularly successful with the LEGO computer games, which work precisely because only an idiot would imagine they could. Unfortunately, the irony is somewhat diluted once we get to "Ho ho, it's that comedy CGI speeder bike from outside the cantina at Mos Eisley in the Special Edition - made of LEGO!!!"; after a while, loudly and proudly mocking one's own penchant for taking the piss fails to distract attention from the fact that you are, nonetheless, continuing to take the piss.
My own confusion was in respect of Lego figures, or people if you will. They seem to possess a bizarre smile as if high on some narcotic and yellow skin - YELLOW SKIN???!!! - perhaps Lego Hospitals were run by an NHS type system which had no way of controlling Kidney Disease?
Oh...and as it was MY city (well that and Mr Creditor's), I was always mayor of course!!!
* "Buggies" made of a 4-stud and two of the 4-studs with wheels.
* The pain of kneeling on a Lego brick, or trying to prise them apart with your teeth.
* Early Lego people with large yellow heads where you could slip their hair down over their eyes for comic effect.
* Odd sign-blocks like KIOSK (?!)
* Irresistibly chewy rubber tyres.
* The smell of an old ice-cream tub full of Lego bricks and the "ksssh" sound as you dug around for the right piece.
*NNNYEEARRRHHH* Space cruiser Titanic 2 crashing onto space base *CRRRRASSSHHH* --- lose a grabber off a bit...tragedy..glue would never fix it properly