This is a follow on from a blog I wrote in 2009 called 'Harvestmouse the beginning'. So you may wish to read that before going any further, or stopping altogether, as this ones rather long.

Although 'Steve' was gone, his figures weren't. However it didn't take long for my imagination to run a bit thin with the old one armed Gandalf, fleet-footed (three footed more like) Shadowfax and Gimli no axe; in short they had started to lose a bit of their appeal.

New troops were in order, if I was ever to become the ruler I deserved to be, and as luck would have it, I found that the local toyshop actually sold something called 'citadel blisters'. Single figure blister packs at 60p each would be just the ticket. The one and only problem stopping me from being the Dwarven King of the mountains, was that my pocket money was only 50p a week (and a packet of opal fruits).

After discussing the problem with Mummy Mouse, we quickly came to an agreement. I would do the washing up 'everyday' rather than "Mum going out with Dave, do the washy up when I getbackbye!"

However taking on the washing up responsibilities for 2 bob a week, didn't really work out for either party. It seems there was more to cleaning dishes than dunking them under the hot tap and sticking caked on maceroni and cheese plates dripping wet back into the cupboard (this apparently really didn't make Mummy Mouse very happy, as it appeared that dried pasta leftovers works better than super glue at cementing dishes and plates into one large clump that wedged itself onto the top shelf). And so we agreed, that for me to earn my extra 10p, I'd give up custard creams and Gateways' own salt and vinegar crisps instead.

After about 6 months of dedicated barrack ground drilling, I'd built up quite a sizeable force. 2 units of regular Dwarfs, a unit of Imperial Dwarfs (that had their own special trumpet charge when pushed across the carpet) and my favourite; a unit of Gnomes (which were great as they were 2 for 90p, which meant I could get 4 figures every 3 weeks!)

My best friend at the time was 'Ewbank' we pronounced the 'Ew' – 'New' (not sure if that's what you were supposed to do, but that's what we did) and generally we dropped the B and doubled up the W; which as spiteful little sods, quickly became a rather whimsical nickname accompanied by a particularly nasty hand gesture. He was however a rather talented artist for his age, and took an interest in my battle troop. 'I've got all the paints at home and stuff, I can do them up a bit if you want?' He once offered.

Of course I nearly bit his hand off at such an invitation. This was much better than what my lads had been forced to put up with, which consisted of me opening a pot of airfix battleship grey enamel and dunking a figure in (and occasionally having to fish around to get it back out again).

After a few weeks (or possibly hours, I can't remember exactly), I thought I'd check up on how he was getting on. He'd already shown me the first example, and it looked fantastic. It had at least 3 different colours on it, including a bright red plume!

I knew exactly where to find New'b'ank, he was where he was every Thursday afternoon when he couldn't do the Chemistry homework; sitting in front of the local Carp fishing lake, forlornly hoping that one of the 3 legendary inhabitants would be stupid enough to take an interest in his 6 month old 'Salmon Supreme' boilies, (if indeed they actually even existed, none of them were ever seen).

“How you getting on with the lads?” I enquired as I skipped along the bankside swinging a 2 handed battleaxe/come freshly snapped off Birch branch at any stinging nettle that dared to look at me funny. Full of enthusiasm I thought of new and exciting missions for my sturdy bearded warriors. 'Those gerbils may have defended the sunflower seeds last time, but that won't be the case now, especially with our new bright red plumes' I mused. “Ahhh I got bored” he replied, “I melted them down to make fishing weights.” He calmly announced as he cast 5 ounces of what used to be 'Oakenshield's finest' out across the water.

I couldn't believe it! After all those months walking 2 miles to Farnborough shopping centre to buy a 60p citadel figure. After all those battle plans lining up and advancing on Ger & Bill the giant rodents of Mount Silver Cage. After all those whacks and wallops for using the best knives and forks to fish out and rescue sunken miniatures from out of the enamel painting pots; Captain Blimey Oakenshield and his retinue were gone! My army had lost a battle they could never possibly have hoped to win; against a stove, a frying pan and a poorly placed 50lb swivel! There they were currently sitting at the bottom of a lake connected to 12lb breaking strain monofilament line, stopping some bleeding boiled fish treat from floating off across some bloody pond! My beloved army were were were ....... to coin a euphemism 'sleeping with the fishes'.

Before I knew what I was doing, my foot rose up into the air and came thundering down with a SNAP across first and then the second 11 foot, 1 and three quarter pound test curve Silstar carbon (composite) Carp fishing rods.

Like a scene out of American Werewolf in Frimley, the usually meek and mild New'b'ank changed in front of my eyes; from the bullies' favourite punching bag into a snarling and gnashing feral beast that suddenly launched at me. I knew instinctively that this had now become a battle of life and death, and decisive decision making was needed to make sure I was the one that survived. Quickly I picked up his baitbox and launched it at his head in what I hoped would end in a decapitating death blow. Sadly for me, it sailed harmlessly wide and frizbied off into the middle of the lake.

Then the bestial Newbank hit me, his knuckles smacking into my mouth and chipping a bit off of my tooth, we tumbled to the ground, locked in a death grip, rolling around screeching and howling with a mixture of pure anger and shear terror. One minute his knee was in my gut, the next his eyebrow was between my teeth as the once tranquil and peaceful fishing haunt looked more like an African jungle scene with 2 male chimps fighting to the death for control of the troop.........

As we sat there mourning our losses, glumly watching the baitbox bob it's way to freedom. Me, using my tongue to probe my newly shaped tooth. Him, holding a damp sock to stem the flow of blood from his missing eyebrow, I knew one thing for certain. No more wargame figures for me, they were far too dangerous!