Still in rain-soaked Bristol as the Comics Expo enters the long home straight that is Sunday. Had a fun day yesterday, caught up with many, many people I hadn't seen for years - at least seven years in some cases. Everyone was older [obviously], not sure how many of us are any the wiser. A few have gotten thinner, some fatter. There's a lot less hair, and much of it has gone gray. Still, it was a delight to see everyone and catch up on their lives.
Apparently I was meant to be on a panel yesterday, but nobody told me and I only discovered by bumping into writer-artist Dave Hine who had expected me to be present. Guess I'd better check this morning and see what my committments for the day actually are, instead of wandering about in a state of blissful ignorance. Hoping to get back to the big hall and buy a book or two that caught my eye yesterday. Shockingly, I still have a few quid left, so I can treat myself.
Went out to dinner last night with another great group of people, including Josh from Gosh! Comics [opposite the British Museum in London, and one of the best comics shops in the world. Ever.], Sean Phillips & son, Duncan Fegredo, Paul Peart, Charlie Adlard and several others. Across the table from me was a felow Kiwi and we fell to reminiscing about the Sunday Horror, a New Zealand institution from our youth.
Every Sunday night a channel screened the rock music show Radio With Pictures, followed by some randomly chosen horror films from years gone by. Being an impressionable, hormonally charged teenager at the time, I recall The Vampire Lovers making the biggest impression on me, but Sunday Horrors must have screamed almost every horror film made before 1970 over the years. Growing up in New Zealand, we didn't get the Eurovision Song Contest. So the fact that last night was the annual camp-fest of crap Euro pop and kitschness meant nothing to me - much the same way as Midge Ure felt about Vienna. I've been in Britain 17 years and I still don't get Eurovision. Guess it's something you have to grow up with.