One of these photos is of the legendary creators of Asterix, and the other is of a couple of wallys.
To win a free book simply identify the correct photo.
Closing date for the competition is whenever I get bored.
I’m a great admirer of these two, (the Asterix ones, not the other two clowns) and I even based my first books, Ashe of the Outback series on the format they so successfully pioneered along with Herge’ and Tin Tin. James, however, is the psychic love-child of Goscinny and Udurzo. He doesn’t admit it, but it is obvious that to him they are the French version of the Norse Gods of artists and look down on his every pen stroke and every colour mix he ever attempts. I suspect as far as he is concerned there are none better. I bet too if we were to see a picture of James’ bedroom when he was ten years old, the walls would be covered in Asterix posters, the bookshelves groaning under only Asterix volumes, and little Obelix and Getafix dolls would litter every surface. And he probably spoke in a bad, pun-laden French accent, non? And was just itching to attack hoards of le Normans (or le Romans).
I suppose pretending to be Udurzo is a slight improvement on the ten year old Norman pretending to be Errol Flynn all the time. Not much future in that.
Addendum from James (to be read in a French accent):
Excusez-moi, mon ami Nor-man, fer high-jacque-ing your blog poste, but I sought I woulde show you a little photograph of mon bureau, eh, my desk. When I was zhust a garcon, I did not have ze dolls d’Asterix as you say. But now Je suis un adulte, mon bureau has many of ze Asterix figurines upon it… zey are tres bonne, no?
Back to Norm:
And further more…
So James didn’t get his Asterix dolls until he was an adult, eh? Arrested childhood, perhaps? A tragic childhood? No toys, and only gruel to eat, so he’s making up for it now? However, I can talk. Here I am half a century later still pretending to be Errol Flynn. The picture was taken a few years ago by my wife Jan at a medieval fayre in St David’s Cathedral grounds in Wales. To my surprise, as I’m usually hopeless at sport-like stuff, I turned out to be a right little Robin Hood with an Anti-French longbow. Loads of bullseyes. I reckon could have stood on Hasting beach in 1066 and just about single handedly stopped the Norman invasion of England, my aim was so true. Though, with a name like mine I would have been on the other team, and then King Harold would have had something to really worry about .