Hello again. Last time we spoke I was preparing for a weekend in London, having had over a week to recover, I feel I can now talk about it.
Things didn't start too brilliantly when my train into London was delayed by 20 minutes, not that I noticed during the wait, which is the joy of being stuck head first into a good book.
After meeting up with my mate, we left for our first excusrion of the weekend. Across London on the mighty and mostly regular public transport system to a pub called The Griffin. My friend had explained this pub to me before, and some months earlier an epic cross-city trek to see it's unbridled fruits had come apart at the twelth hour, literally, as the place closes at midnight and that was our arrival time. This time we arrived early enough to see the young ladies of delight.
I have to say I was shocked, shocked I tell you. A pound in a pint glass from everyone for the girl to get up and strip, Sky Sports on the big screen between girls, offers of private dances, you'd probably join me in thinking that the "girls" would be 40 year old mum's with saggy boobs. But not, extremely attractive, nice smelling and very flexible girls are the order of the day. They get up on stage and wow the crowd with skillful displays of pole grinding. One girl even kept winking at the audience, and not with her eyes! (That's muscle control for you!)
Upon leaving the wonderful world of winking brown eyes, we set forth on a mission to buy more beer
"Hey, supermarkets do 24 hour beer selling now."
"Really? Let's get some more then."
As you can tell, a lot of thought went into our plan. Approaching the Sainsbury's, that most dreadful of "in the middle of London" afflictions struck us, the over full bladder. With pubs chucking out to the sides, there was no chance of slipping inside for a crafty non-customer piss, so it would be down to the many and varied alleys of London. Which presents a larger problem, clearly people have grown fed up of going to work and stepping over rivers of piss in the morning, so now all the visible alleys are well let and CCTV'd. The lights are not as much of a problem as the cameras are, you never know who is going to be sat there at a bank of monitors, hand on the zoom control, waiting for me to whip out my magnificent manhood. The solution is the age old "covering each other" mission. Which does not mean peeing all over your friend.
Bladders dry, river of golden glory stepped over, to Sainsbury's we did go.
At which point it was back to his, beers, Whatever on Channel 4, and that program is a big steaming turd if ever I watced one, and passing out on a settee.
I'll tell you about Saturday later.
In more interesting news, I've had 2 submission acceptances since my return.
One was for Zarjaz, the 2000ad fanzine, which I sent a Sinister Dexter story into a few months ago. Apparently he liked it and sent it to an artist, but forgot to mention it to me.
The Second was for the publishers of Sancho, the nice Irish lads over at 20000-Leagues. Nina and Styx, the everyday story of a teenage goth girl and her demonically possesed teddy bear will be seeing print, hooray! The acceptance email called Styx a classic character, which is cool, because I loved that trapped-in-a-cuddly-toy maniac!
Now, if I could just write something that I get paid for...
Oh, I didn't get the job. Hey-ho. But I do have the opportunity to buy a business, so there's stuff a-coming.