My favourite TV show when I was ten was the A-Team. You know the plot: someone attractive needs saving from drug lords, Communists or an African dictator, BA Baracus refuses to fly, the A-Team scrounge together very improvised weapons, there’s a car chase or action scene and George Peppard smokes a cigar wearing leather gloves. Wholesome entertainment.
I already have an office chair, a hoodie, some old sneakers and paint-spattered jeans. Now all I need is an FAL and I can be light anti-aircraft defence.
(The full series is terrifying and amazing in about equal measure, and reminds you that despite smartarse beret-wearing Westerners there’s kind of a war still going on).
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