Diary of an up and coming sociopath

Oh dear god. I’ve got a £5 play.com voucher and no idea what to spend it on. There are so many things I want, so many graphic novels, DVDs, and yet I can’t choose just one. I need to strike the correct balance of the following factors:

1) It must be expensive enough that I probably wouldn’t buy it without the £5 off
2) It much not be more than a few quid cheaper elsewhere

I’ve been going down my list of stuff and there’s no DVD I can find that wouldn’t be better served as a christmas present, no graphic novel I want that isn’t already so cheap that wasting a free fiver on it would be pointless. For the love of god, this is the hardest decision I’ve ever faced. And it has to be spent tomorrow. If you feel that you’ve got a good idea, let me know. Emergency choiceL An Evening with Kevin Smith DVD. Or We3. Or Dirtbike Manifesto. Or Maximum Carnage. Do you see my problem?

Speaking of good ideas, I’m strongly considering a Nintendo DS. Josh and I hooked his up to the wireless router and played some people who might’ve been halfway across the planet (or street) at Mario Kart DS. That’s gaming. At this point, it’s not a question of “if”, but “when” I’m starting to feel.

After two days of hanging around relaxing (comic box excursions aside) I ended up cramming what, for me, amounts to almost an entire month’s social activity into 1 day.

The journey begins at 9:30am, which was the time I had planned to leave. When you lead such an action packed life as I do, sometimes it’s hard to go to bed, which makes it even harder to get out of bed the next morning. Still, I managed to get back to Leamington, drop Nikki off and pick Josh up, and then drive us to the NEC. While Nikki and I were in the car, Jonothan Ross was on and the conversation came around to computer games. You may not know, but I’ve been playing the Taito Classics CD a lot recently, and saying how Bubble Bobble is a great game that I’ve been playing for almost 20 years, as well as the sequel Rainbow Islands, so after last night’s comics diatribe on his TV show, I was even more delighted to hear him single out those two games as his favourite examples of gaming above the current crop of things like GTA and Halo. It just goes to prove that if you take away Jonothan Ross’ charm and charisma, you’re basically left with me.

Besides the customary “wandering around the NEC and getting totally confused by the unhelpful signs” portion of the journey, it was all smooth sailing. We get in about 1pm, and stayed until they closed at 5, which was probably the longest we’ve ever stayed at a Memorabilia. Part of the reason was because this time, it was bigger than ever, in an almost unbelievable way. They had actually added an extra section of convention hall which easily equalled the size of Expo (that we went to in London) and this is for an event already 2-3 times the size of that. Part of that contained the Red Dwarf guests in their own stand, and the rest contained some really excellent retro gaming stalls that were selling all kinds of NES, SNES, and other console games. Even now, I regret not buying SNES SF2 Turbo for £3 when I had the chance, especially since they’re always going for twice that on eBay.

I didn’t find the specific things I was after (Missing Generation X issues, Adult Swim DVDs/Figures) but I did get myself a copy of Mallrats X. Buying DVDs of films I already own sets a dangerous precedent, but this version is significantly different from the other so as to make it alright if you’re a proper Smith afficianado. Which I am. Plus you only have to look at Josh and his multiple copies of any film with the word “dead” in the title and see that I’m nowhere near as bad as I could be.

Speaking of which, one of the reasons we went was to get Josh his George Romero signatures. I continued my career as a photographer of other people with celebrities they are getting to sign stuff and got him this which I think we can all agree, is my best work to date, mainly because my fingers aren’t at all in shot. I don’t know why the hell people keep giving me cameras.

Romero himself was surprisingly like I’d expect Stan Lee to be, with an odd combination of boundless energy and the suggestion that they’re about to drop dead at any second. He did a Q&A session we attended and Ken Foree (He was in Dawn of the Dead, and also played Keenen’s Dad in Keenan and Kel) talked mainly about how even in the 50s Romero didn’t kill off the black guys in his films like some directors did, and how the fact that the black guys and women survived in his films displayed a progressive influence that Romero didn’t seem so certain about. I think he just knew black and female actors were cheaper in those days. And probably still are really.

After the nerdism was over, we stopped off at the Stoneleigh carvery so I could have some dinner, before going back home. I picked Nikki up, dropped Josh off, and then headed down to Oxford to Rachel and Seb’s party, where we met many interesting people the names of whom I’ve almost entirely forgotten, but that’s because I’m shit with names rather than a reflection of the quality of the company. It’s fun going down there (even without the cake that was there this time) but there’s often a deep self-consciousness welling within me that I’m not in University and it was a student party. I don’t want to become the sad old git clinging to studenthood, but then the only parties I went to when I was a student were organised by people who were out of University anyway, so maybe it’s not really clinging onto, so much as compensating for. Oh god, the ravages of age.

By the end of the evening, except for the people who left to go to a club (at the Zodiac. The depressing reminder of the Zodiac.) we were the last to leave again. Clearly I am a party animal. Maybe not as rowdy as a Party Gorilla, but perhaps some kind of Party Marmoset or Tapir. By the time we left at around half one, I felt like I’d been going non-stop since half nine in the morning and after the drive home I basically passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Socially conflicting subgroups is an issue that’s bound to come up in a far more tangible manner when we go and see Patrick Stewart perform a Christmas Carol. I bought the tickets today. Call me insane, but any booking page which lets you select “Judge” and “Rt. Honourable” from the dropdown list of Titles seems to be courting a higher social class than the “barely out of University, debt-ravaged middle class” group to which I belong. I don’t have a clue about the ettiquette. When he walks on stage should I whoop? Is shouting star trek-based catchphrases considered a faux pas*?

Even the receipt I was e-mailed was classy, because it hyphenated “today” as “to-day” which is the sort of thing I only even see in Jane Austen books. I half-expected it to begin “I hope this order confirmation finds you well.” Clearly, the way they write their e-mails has not changed since the 17th century. Hilariously, there was also a link attached to the e-mail which offered police advice for people travelling into London, since clearly if you’re upper class enough to go to a play, you’re rich enough to be scared of the gangs of criminals who roam the streets of London. Watched out you bastards, we’ll be sitting RIGHT ABOVE YOU! We got balcony tickets for the 9th, so we’ll be sitting with the other riff raff at least. I suspect we’ll do well to invest in some binoculars if we want to see anything decent.

*For the non-French speaking amoung you, “Faux” means False, and “Pas” means thingy, so “Faux Pas” means “False Thingy”

Sometimes, you have to suffer for your hobbies. Not in a Simon Quinlank, master of all hobbies, going insane way, but suffer nonetheless. My particular penance comes in the form of comic care.

I’m ridiculously obsessive about keeping my stuff in good condition, so obviously, when the stuff I’m trying to keep in good condition is constructed of flimsy paper, things can get ugly. I don’t board every comic, I tend fo bag them in sets, but I do like to have them stored properly somewhere. For this reason, god created comic boxes.

Comic boxes are appropriately dimensioned, easily transportable comic receptacles. They come in varying capacities and can be a real hand to organisation as well. They’re ridiculously simple, a fact that is not at all reflected in their high price. They are, for any serious comics afficionado, a necessity. I’ve been running out of storage space for a while, and I promised Nikki that next time I had the chance, I’d buy a new box and tidy things up a little.

Since I took thursday and friday off work, it seemed like the right time.

Clearly, when whichever deity you blame invented comic boxes, he chanced upon the wonderful idea of keeping them flat-packed until you need to assemble them. It works great, as you might expect. What it doesn’t do well is let you transport them across town by hand. Certainly, it doesn’t allow you to transport them on a tube train by hand either, which was why I had to wait until my day off to buy them, because I’m damn sure you’re not getting one home by hand, on a tube train, in london, at rush hour.

And that was just the hurdle I knew was there to jump.

When I got to forbidden planet, I had to hang around trying to figure out who were the staff and who were the clients. It’s often a problem in such places because everyone there’s a nerd underneath and during the quieter periods of day, it comes to the surface more. I eventually noticed some guy kept wandering behind a counter, and decided he fit the bill. I knew at once he was in retail, because the ensuing conversation went verbatim like this:

“Hi. Do you sell comic boxes?”
“Yes, we do.”
“What sizes have you got?”
“Well…” he paused and thought, “Comic box size.”

After which I pretty much gave up and eventually asked for their smallest one. Now, for the uninitiated, what I was trying to discern was whether they have short, medium or long boxes available. Those are the standard designations, and I was looking for one or all of those terms. In my generous nature, I’m going to assume that he knew anyone asking for comic boxes would know the available sizes and felt it unecessary to confim what I suspected, but usually I like to get a bit more out of my retail inquiries.

After paying for it and dragging it upstairs, I was delighted to find that it was now raining, which it had not been when I entered the building. Luckily, some gilfriendly foresight had bestowed upon me a bin bag which just about covered the box. Soggy carboard sheets would prove of little use storing comics, and this particlar pair of cardboard sheets just cost me six quid.

My hands froze and the bag got soaked, but the box inside remained remarkably dry. On the tube journey home I propped it up next to the plexiglass divider and tried to pretend it was totally normal. People were looking at me in a way that said “What has he got in that binbag? Is it a picture? A mirror? Wait, is it a bomb of some kind? Is he a suicide bomber? I’d better put one hand on the emergency alarm lever just in case.” Such that by the time I was halfway back I felt like standing up and saying “Do not be alarmed. I am a comic geek and this is my comic geek paraphenalia. There is no reason to be afraid.”

Still, I got it home in one piece, and it’s now awaiting some serious comic reorganisation, after which it’ll become an integral part of whatever systen I adopt anew. Filing comics is a whole different ballgame, really, the transportation of comic boxes is peanuts compared to that. We’re really just scratching the surface of the tip of the iceberg in terms of what the hobby entails with this entry.

Speaking of which, did you see Jonothan Ross? He interviews Hewlett and ALbarn and openly admitted to caring more about meeting the guy who drew tank girl over the guy who is in Blur. He is like an ambassador for nerdism and to see the artform get worshipped so openly by a respected man, even if he is a gibbering fanboy at heart, was just great. Jamie Hewlett was good, but I’d really like to see someone who is proper hardcore comics fare on his show, like Warren Ellis or Grant Morisson. Dear god, that would make some hilarious watching.

The weather in these parts has taken a turn for the horrendous. I’ve resorted to wearing a coat but that only takes me so far as the broken air conditioning system at work which keeps us in draughty conditions all day long, and the only advice we get from facilities management is “Don’t turn on heaters because the thermostat is very sensitive” which is basically the same advice we got in summer when the heating was on too much, rather than not enough. You’d think a company that claims to be behind a good portion of the internet would know how to keep its workers at the right temperature, wouldn’t you?

Though on a lighter note, I’ve got the end of this week off, which was supposed to be because Tom was coming back from spain, but since that situation altered itself, I’m just glad that I can stay in the warm for two extra days. And now I’m planning to hit up Memorabilia on Saturday, so it serves as a kind of rest period before that. I haven’t been to a memorabilia since roundabout exactly April 5th 2003 (at least, I can’t find any subsequent evidence of going to onw) and whenever I go to similar events I’m always to be found saying something like “It’s almost as good as Memorabilia…” so instead of lamenting the fact, I’m going back to the source to see if I’m talking gibberish or whether it really is that much better. Depending on what the costs involved are, there’s a red dwarf cast reunion I might get in on somehow, as well as George Romero, but my usual behaviour in these matters is to go “£25 to meet some actor? Fuck that.” and just try and photograph them from afar just to prove I could’ve taken a shot at them if I really wanted them dead.

Speaking of which, I should let everyone know about my Sleb-about-town spotting.

In addition to Ricky Gervais, who I saw at lunchtime with Garry and Dipesh a couple of weeks ago:

Gordon Ramsey got on the same tube train as me in Leicester Square. I didn’t recognise him immediately but the people around me seemed quite excited by the fact, which alerted me to the truth.
Lenny Henry pushed past Ian and I while we were waiting at a cash machine in SoHo. I did recognise him in a vague “I know that face…” way but once he spoke and I heard his Brummie accent it all came flooding back.
Finally, while Nikki was waiting for me outside work, Jamie Oliver came out of the catering shop next door and when I came out of the building he was just about to leave in his Taxi.

Clearly, London is where it’s “at” though I’m not sure what it is and where exactly you can find it, but certainly we can deduce from this pattern of sightings that I’m right on top of it.

Speaking of which, Patrick Stewart is doing a one-man production of A Christmas Carol in December. The balcony seats are only £12, so we’re all going to get ourselves some cheapo tickets and generally turn up to make a nuisance of ourselves. The man is a titan, so I’m sure he can take a few star trek and X-Men geeks ruining his play. I kid. If you feel as though you’d like to join the assembled masses, let us know, we’re aiming to get tickets for a weekend early in December. Though, 3rd floor balcony, you may want to bring some binoculars…

In a rare fit of good fortune I finally found a complete set of Brian Wood’s “Fight for Tomorrow” on eBay, and it is now mine. Now I just face the agonising wait for shipping from the US. This series kind of slipped through the cracks, and I get the feeling it was overshadowed by Couriers. Fight for Tomorrow wasn’t ever released as a trade, as far as I know, which means that with his increased popularity due to DMZ and Local, it will almost certainly be issued damn near immediately, just in time to make me regret buying the single issues.

My Red Dwarf VII DVD arrived today, as did my final Pixies bootleg. I haven’t had time to indulge properly in either of them though. I remember buying the series 1 of Red Dwarf in my first term of Uni and thinking “Wow, when series 8 comes out I’ll have been finished with Uni over a year, and now here we are. with only one more set to go before it’s complete. I remember as far back as even watching series 7 when it was first aired as well, something like 8 years ago. It was a great disappointment, as I recall, but in light of series 8 my opinion of it has become strangely rose-tinted an d I’m quite looking forward to re-watching it.

As for the Pixies discs, it’s fair to say that there’s only so much variety that you can find in having live versions of the same tracks over and over. It’s a memento unrivalled in its brilliance, but quite how I’d choose whether to listen to Reading, Alexandra Palace or Brixton is way beyond me. I just enjoy having the recordings to add a bit of variety into my pixies listenings. Now, if only they could record some new tracks live, we’d be talking.

At work we got our stock options sorted out today, which I’m finding is great fun. Mainly the bit where I calculate how much money I’ll get given in about 9 months time when my options vest and I can cash in big, assuming the bottom doesn’t fall out of the company, but also the bit where I have a trading account that makes procuring shares remarkably easy. Remember how online shopping made spending money incredibly easy? Well this is the same thing, only the potential losses are tremendous in relation. As my credit card debt approaches the near zero level I may set aside some money to lose in unwise investment. Amalgamated Spats, anyone?

In addition to my Pixies recording that’s pending arrival, and the one I received the other day, I bought an official version of the Brixton gig I went to all those months ago. I did get the MP3 download version at the time, for I was an intensely poor student, but I just bought the 2-CD “mastered” version that comes in proper packaging, for £20. That means I’ve got soundboard recordings of 3/4 of all the Pixies gig’s I’ve ever been to, and they didn’t do Kentish Town Forum disclive sets so that’s the only one i’m missing. I heartily support this endeavour. It’s the ultimate in scams, convincing me to spend money on a gig I’ve just been to. You can’t even rely on me to buy a t-shirt from the bootleggers at the end, let alone the official stall, but a recording like these? Every fucking time.

In other news, do you know how good the comics coming out tomorrow are? I suspect that you don’t. Brian Wood’s other new series, Local, is released, as well as Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s “All Star Superman” which will mark possibly the first ever mainstream DC superhero purchase I’ve ever made, soley because of the creators. It’s bound to be too good to miss. That, and I’m haunted by the memory of the time I was passing up issues of Ultimate Spider-Man #1 going ‘Bah, flash in the pan, load of shite’ only to have it become one of the most sought-after comics in recent memory. That’ll be the kind of speculating genius that’ll win me some share money. In addition to those two comics, the marvel figurines thing that I’m pissing money away on is putting out a Hulk Special, and the Hulk figure looks fucking awesome. I’m kind of disturbed by how fast the accumulated cost is piling up for the figures (I’ve got almost £30 invested after 5 issues) but they’re too good to stop buying. I’m sure you’d agree if you saw them. Don’t judge me.

Nikki was at work all weekend so I spent it communing with the PC. I managed to visit both Tescos and Sainsburys and still not get all the food I was after. Did you know it’s basically impossible to buy Chocolate Orange bars and Vimto in bulk (or indeed, not in bulk) around these parts? True story.

On Saturday evening Nikki was at her work’s Christmas Ball, and while I’m sure you’re looking at the calendar bemusedly right now, I’m sure there’s logic in it somewhere. Perhaps christmas is too busy a time to actually celebrate it. This did give me the fun opportunity to drive from our house to the Kensington Olympia. Tube travel renders you totally disorientated in any way except relative to tube stops when travelling around, so it’s good to piece together London in such ways. It’s useful to know that the Uxbridge road basically goes from just near our house to Shepards Bush, or if not useful, interesting. To me.

My birthday present from Nikki arrived yesterday. I was kind of confused when she told me, because I was quite certain it wasn’t my birthday, but it slowly dawned on me that the t-shirt she gave me was only half of it, and the other half was indeed, the DiscLive recording of the Pixies at Reading 2005. I am now taking the advantage of how she is at work to listen to it properly, that is to say, loudly. And with the treble TURNED UP TO THE MAX!

The recording is great, though I can’t help feeling at some points it oculd do with letting in a bit more of the crowd noise. That’s a minor complaint though. The packaging is decent, the CDs look good, it makes me very glad that I also bought the Alexandra Palace gig I went to a couple of nights after Reading. Admittedly the songs aren’t likely to be very different, but I may have mentioned before my obsession with collecting bootlegs of gigs that I went to, and when the bootlegs are this good, it’s hard to pass up. It even has the banter intact! (as in, the part where Kim dedicates Broke Face to ‘The girl who broke her neck earlier’ and Frank then tries to salvage something tasteful out of the comment)

Still, the post isn’t all good. I’m still waiting for my Red Dwarf VII DVD to arrive. I ordered it a few days ago from Tesco Jersey, and the service has been shite. They haven’t even told me if it’s posted yet or not, and even once it is it’ll take 3 days or so after that to arrive. At this rate I’ll be getting it at the end of next week. It cost me a mere £13 because in addition ot the VAT scam, they were also having a 10% off everything sale, and I can’t pass up savings like that. But christ if it’s not taking a long time to get here. Tuesday, I bought it, and not a fucking peep since.

I can’t help feeling I’ve been neglecting updates recently, and it’s mostly because I’ve been falling asleep during the time I’m supposed to be updating. Maybe it’s because th clocks went back but my brain didn’t.

Still, I mentioned I was going to do this particular update a while back, but I think now is the time to actually get around to it.

Consider, if you will, the word “snack.” It’s an unassuming word, vaguely onomatopaeic, with chiefly positive connotations. An ideal term, perhaps, for marketing food under.

I know someone at Cadburys agrees because I’ve got this to prove it:

Admit it, the word has lost all meaning. Now when you see this:

it doesn’t even look that odd.

I’m not so sure what it is that means cadburys need five products all named the same thing. You’d think this would cause a certain amount of confusion. Especially the fact that not all of the versions are even remotely the same. One of those snacks contains shortbread, another contains digestive, and another contains wafer, but it’s not like they’re even all biscuit-based. 4 of them contain some element of biscuit, if you count wager, though two of them have raisins in. From the picture, that last one appears to be acorn and blueberry but I’m reliably informed that it’s raisins and biscuit.

At least two of the logos are similar enough that it suggests a vague attempt at a whole co-ordinated line of “snack” foods, and the font is even more similar on some of those. Nevertheless, it’s not like these products are being promoted, so who can tell if there’s any marketing co-ordination going on at all?

Frankly, I’m starting to think “snack” is just a name they use as a placeholder and they forget to change it. Or is it that one hand doesn’t know what the other’s doing at Cadburys? Perhaps they have five departments each of which has independantly come up with the idea for a “Snack” bar.

No matter how much I hate it when companies take away their products without adequate explanation (Terry’s Pyramint, where art thou!?) I propose some kind of “Snack Idol” competition where the most favoured snack bar remains and the others are removed from the market. Kind of like highlander, there can be only one. As an aside, I think cutting the heads of people knocked out of pop idol is a great idea. Especially if they do it to the winners as well.

Just so we’re clear, my money’s on the Snack Shortbread. I’ll get you some numbers you can text in at some point soon.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he has to admit that as cool as he is, as accomplished as he is, witty and brilliant though he may be, genius-like in intelligence and striding the world as a titan among men, spreading joy and fortune wherever he goes… I forget where I was going with that sentence. Wait, yes, as great as I might be, there comes a time when even I have to bow down… well, maybe not bow down. Nod. Nod my head to those who might be almost as important to the world as me. Or if not quite up there with me, certainly as important as Christ, or Buddha, or Stan Lee. Two of these such men are Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, and today I descended from the delusional fantasy world of my own construction in which I live to meet the dudes in question.

Part of the problem with meeting people you admire is that you have about 15 seconds in which they’ll acknowledge you, and you somehow have to not embarass yourself during that time. Ordinarily that isn’t be a problem. I go 15 seconds without doing something stupid all the damn time. However, when a man who has accomplished basically everything you ever dream of doing (including, in some cases, having sex with Charlotte Hatherley) places his attention on you, it becomes quite astonishingly difficult to perform even the most basic functions correctly. The time I met Douglas Coupland I spent the whole time in line going “Ohgodohgodohgod” in my head and then somehow managed to blurt out a sentence when I got there. This time I was planning to be well-prepared.

We had to queue for almost three hours, but luckily it took me about this long to figure out what I was going to say. I get the feeling that any joke you can say to someone at a signing will almost certainly have been said to them earlier in the day, unless you’re at the front of the line in which case they probably had exactly the same joke last week when they were signing in Kettering Waterstones. This is doubly difficult when the fans of the people doing the signing are the kind of line-quoting joke-stealing rabid fanboys that normally only I am. I didn’t trust my own ability to be witty so I settled on something suitably not moronic, even if I did know the answer. The alternative would’ve been ended up something along the lines of saying “Hey MAN! That’s FRIED GOLD! Like what you said in the thing! AHAHA!” and then dribbling on their shoes.

Now, I know that sounds incredibly lame right now, but what you, foolish human that you are, fail to realise is that I was deeply affected in an unexpected way by this meeting. I mean, I’ve met Celebrities before, and Artists, and never before today did my hand shake or waver, or did I go slightly weak in the knees, and frankly I was a little concerned by it until Seb admitted he had a similar reaction. The fact I got all the way to the end of a sentence and that it was actually understandable is a source of personal pride.

I said, since I can tell that you’re all wondering, “I did buy the book, but I’d rather get my Spaced DVD signed instead if that’s alright?” to Pegg and he said “yeah, no problem, mate” started to write, then realise he didn’t know my name and looked confused at the disc, then at me and I said “JAMES!” before I forgot, and all proceeded as intended. Then I got to Edgar Wright and realised I hadn’t accounted for the likelihood that I’d be addressing two people seperately so I just told him my name, got the signing, thanked him and left, and both our dignities remained intact. Nikki got her own dialogue with THE MAN when he asked for her name and she pre-empted the whole conversation by saying “er, can you make it out to Josh?” and he said “Aha. You’re not Josh.” and she said “No, it’s for a friend.” and he said like “See, I’m good at these things.” or something. HE WAS JUST LIKE IN THAT THING HE WAS IN! It’s like actually meeting Tim! Or to a lesser extent Shaun! On Josh’s DVD he crossed out “Shaun” and wrote “Josh” so that it now reads “Josh of the Dead” which he probably did for everyone, but is still cool. On my Spaced DVD Pegg wrote “Skip to the End” which is similarly great. Wright went for the more laconic “oi oi.”

So the obvious question would be, was it worth three hours of queueing in cold and semi-wet conditions? And the answer would be YES YOU INSUFFERABLE FOOL! See, Pegg called me “mate.” We’re like fucking *THIS* now. (For maximum effect, imagine that I am making the fingers-crossed motion that goes with that phrase). Seb and Rachel have their own take on the day, I’m sure, but I’ll leave it to them to elaborate on, because it’s not my place to explain for them what was undoubtedly a very personal and religious experience. (It will interlock with mine though, so if you like Blog Crossovers as I do, then get thee to their respective livejournals where there’s certainly bound to be some mention of events.) I did take some hilariously inept photos for them because clearly putting me behind a camera is a terrible idea, and if anything came out good it’s entirely down to chance. I did warn them.

After the experience had worn off, for clearly meeting such men produces a high unlike any drug (except maybe Peggocetamol, which in retrospect I just made up) we went to the Montagu Pyke for some food, then walked down to Marble Arch where they caught the Oxford Tube home. Nikki and I went to John Lewis so she could buy some wool^H^H^H^Hyarn and that about wrapped it up.

‘Course, upshot of the day is that I’m stuck with £8 worth of Shaun of the Dead adaptation that I don’t really want. They were only signing one thing because the line was taking way, way, way longer than scheduled. They weren’t really involved with the comic in any way that’d make me care enough to buy it, and comic adaptations are notoriously bollocks. I’ll keep it for the memories I’ve now externalised upon it, but in future I’ll be less of a corporate shill when it comes to signings. I have grown as a person.