"What was it like before the war, dad?"

"What the - !? I'm not that old, you cheeky young - "

"Noooo! Not the war! The W.A.R. - the Web-assisted Artistic Revolution."

"Oh, before web comics, you mean? Well, son, life for a would-be comic creator was hard. In those days computers for the home had still to be invented. In fact, the only people who had computers at all were the military and they kept theirs hidden in underground bunkers where they were powered by a mixture of steam valves, clockwork and mice on treadmills. You young fellers have it easy these days. We didn't have Wacom tablets or Photoshop or mouse-pens - if you wanted to make a comic you had usually to draw it and letter it by hand, using nothing but a flint chisel and a piece of slate."

"Is that what you did, dad?"

"Ah - no. Real chisels were rationed, you see. We had to make do with a biro and some school exercise books purloined from the stock room by underpaid lab assistants and sold to us on the black market."

"But you did make comics, though?"

"Oh, yes. You see, before the web, pit ponies had to make their own entertainment; and, while they were waiting to be rescued by the fire brigade, the young orphans we sent up chimneys often had nothing to do but make badly drawn home-made comics."

"Did anyone read them? I mean, before the internet - how did anyone get to see them?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, son. In those days we'd carry our crudely etched efforts into school and try to avoid the steely gaze of our teachers as we furtively passed them around the class. That meant a home-made comic could have a guaranteed audience of as many as thirty readers. Maybe even fifty if we could get another class to pass it around, too."

"Fifty readers? But that's twice the readership of the average web comic!"

"Yes, son. The Golden Age of the D-I-Y comic has been and gone."

"Have you still got any of your old comics, dad? The ones you made when you were at school?"

"Oh, I should think they're about somewhere. Probably in the attic, underneath all the Christmas decorations. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could get them down and post them on the web."

"I don't think so, my boy. No one will want to read the comics an old man like me was writing all those decades ago."

"I know that. No one wants to read most of the other comics on the net either! That's why it's the perfect place for them. Plus, they'll have added nostalgia value, too."

"Hmmm - I can't pretend I understand all this new-fangled, electronic comickery with its indefinite canvas nonsense, but I suppose you know best. If you think anyone can learn something from the mistakes I made when I was no'but a lad of fifteen, you go ahead and post them. At least all those old, juvenile jokes won't have died in vain."

"Thanks, dad. I think I'll put them on the Broken Voice Comics website. It'll be like a Christmas treat for all their regular readers. Any idea which one I should start with?"

"Well, you could maybe start with a few pages of DajbDevil. It stars me. As Daredevil. With Snoopy."

"Is that the best one then?"

"No, not really. But that's the one that some humourless lawyer might decide is in some way potentially harmful to Marvel or the memory of Charles Schulz, so it's best to get it out there early."

"Good idea, dad. Happy Christmas."

"And a happy Christmas to you, son. And, of course, to all our readers - past and present!"