I did actually manage to propel my arse to Comiket, at the excellent British Library venue,despite my social and confinement phobias, so pin a rose on me! The bright open spaces there are much less oppressive than the usual sort of place. I saw a few faces I recognised, and timidly peeped hello. Paul Gravett, as always, was very sweet, and even said that my work had 'almost' made it into the exhibition.
As usual, I was embarrassed by having no money to buy zines, although, of course, I did succumb to a few. It seems mean not to pick up lots of stuff for £2-3 a pop, though, but, y'know, I just can't. It seemed to be going well; busy, but not uncomfortably packed, and I hope everyone had a decent turnover.
Unfortunately, I noticed that the tunic I'd flung on , and hadn't worn in ages, was sliding about, and hanging off me, exposing a goodly portion of very tired old bra! Jeez Louise.
Yesterday in the park, I was suddenly drenched in a short, but intense shower. I couldn't be arsed to stop,go in, change, etc. as I was halfway through my torture session, so just carried on. Of course, this rather posh soprano from the choir suddenly appeared with her dog...How blazing mental must I have looked? Aw, who cares, anyway?
The sheer strain of venturing into the weekend crowds of humanity shattered me to the extent that I collapsed, and watched...ROCKY V !!! Heaven help us.