Crazycrone (crazycrone) wrote,

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Where To Start...

Yesterday afternoon spent in anxiety-increasing and bizarre 'conversations', as I attempted to sort out my grievous financial state a bit. At one point, I thought I was talking to my bank branch,and after three sessions of being 'on hold' finally realised it was just some other loan company person I'd been transferred to...After being repeatedly told that I am no longer able to make the payments, she just offered to 'consolidate' again...Like, if I can't pay the monthly amount, how can they possibly consider selling me a deal where I'd be expected to pay more? Scream.

Anyway, I wobbled on towards the Cartoon panel. There was something odd going on at Oxford St tube. It was closed, and grumpy legions were queueing up outside, jostling. Something was beeping, and it was all a bit scary, but I guess nothing of note was happening, since I've heard no more about it. Made me glad that I never use the bloody tube unless there's really no choice whatever.

The panel was excellent. There was a very good turnout, considering it was a cold, gloomy weeknight, and there was wine and nibbles.
Carol Bennett was looking pleased and perky. I joined
helenraven and briefly encountered Sina S., who I hadn't seen for bloody years. I couldn't hear what he was saying, unfortunately, but he looked very chipper and 'sophisticated'.
cleanskies and jinty turned up, too, all the way from Oxford, and intending to return that night! Yowza! Jeremy was sporting a rather nice (dark plum?) hair shade I hadn't seem before, and Jenni had had a very, very busy day, but was somehow still standing. Again, no opportunity to chat, really, and I probably couldn't have heard, anyway. (Another rapidly worsening sign of old age; I just cannot follow what people are saying in busy halls, pubs, etc. Bum.)
The talks were cool, with slides (yay-) Suzy Varty, the sublime Kate Carlesworth, Kate Evans, and the goddess Alison Bechdel herself talked about the influence of the zeitgeist on their oeuvre. Bechdel has the most fascinating 'explainin' hands' (like Mo's), very long and thin and tendrilly.
Afterwards, helenraven, the extent of whose gobsmackingly saintly generosity was revealed to me only when I got home- treated me to an astonishing little meal at the delightful Rasa nearby.

This food was like nothing I'd ever tasted before; truly, fantastically 'exotic'...What with all my trials and tribbles, I've really not had that much appetite recently, and at the best of times, my diet consists of the basics, and what's on offer. This was an exquisite trencher-person experience that reminded me just how good grub can be, and included possibly the finest mango lasse (sp?) in the world, ever. All I can to is keep gibbering thanks, for this and everything else...
When I win the lottery, the celebratory beano is definitely gonna be at Rasa. In the meantime, I advise all people with the ol' disposable income to blow some of it here. It's probably a good idea to go in a group, too, so you can order loads of different dishes and share around.The stuff's incredible. Believe me.
After all that, a lengthy, chilly wait and ride home, where I polluted my mind by watching the latest trashorama documentary, all about THE WORLD'S LARGEST PENIS.(Crikey-) Then, I watched a bit of THEATRE OF BLOOD, which seemed a much better quality flick than I remembered, but I conked out, anyway. ZZZZZ...

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