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'A gaping silken dragon,/Puffed by the wind, suffices us for God./We, not the City, are the Empire's soul:/A rotten tree lives only in its rind.'

Friday, 20 February 2015

Wheels - wheels-

...wheels-wheels-goin' round an' round again!
Oh-my-God-keep-me-from goin' lunatic!

(With apologies to Kipling).

Good old Matchbox. Simple, straightforward, not short-run, none of yer fancy stuff. But those road wheels are small, and each one linked to the runner by four bits of sprue. Still, only one pinged off into the maw of the great carpet beast (or, in my case, the crack in the floorboards).  The pleasant thing is that after a week's work, this was undemanding kit bashing, with such fast progress it brought schoolboy Saturday kit-bashing back to mind.

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