The personality’s already disintegrating enough to make something resembling a thorough essay impossible. Hence, I’ll return to points. Apologies to anyone or anything I miss. Don’t blame me – its my higher-cortex's fault.

Sold comics. Alistair Pulling and myself wore suits on the Saturday and genuinely worked it, making lots of money. On Sunday, we were broken men, wore black and hid behind tarot cards and hopeful whistling of the Theme From The Great Escape.

I’ll probably write more on the last point anon. Have plenty of copies left over, which I’m going to work out what I’m going to do with. Had our local comic shop offer to put up a display of them if I can get some posters done, which means I’ll have a bigger comics presence in Bath than DC and Marvel Put together.

John Mazzeo thinks my blog is stupid, stating things that everyone else processed years ago. John Mazzeo says particularly harsh things about obvious statements about Avril Lavigne. John Mazzeo suspects my next post will be “Fuck me! Have you seen the sky! It’s *blue*!”. John Mazzeo was next seen publically masturbating to Girls Aloud in the Hotel Bar, lapdancing Ninth-Art head-honcho Andrew Wheeler and lifting Jim Lee from the ground and attempting to lob him as far has he can. John Mazzeo is very drunk, and his opinion easily disregarded.

Sick Tim has been judged Sick and Wrong by professional bodies, with Matt 2000 AD describing his pitch “Vampire Lesbian Sex-Nuns Versus Hitler” as “Willfully offensive and unpublishable”. A pitch for Avatar, apparently, is in the works.

Picking up a whole load of Indie works by assorted people, which I’ll talk about later. Meeting assorted people who I hadn’t had a chance to bump heads with yet. I’ll mention >Jamie “Kenickie on the Oni Board” McKelvie's as I was chatting to him earlier on MSN, but would have probably done so anyway since him showing me his art lead to one of my more pretentious arttosspeak of the weekend. Which is genuinely saying something, as I was fully in a Talk Like A Wanker mode for the most of it.

Mark Stephenson kneeling, trying to explain to a tiny child how important the sketch that Dave Gibbons drew him is. See also: Repeating the “You’re Tiny” gag at Jim. Marvelous.

Realising that, as a collection, the HITs kinda work. Fuck me backwards with a printed mini-comic.

I didn’t meet up with the one person I was meant to be meeting up with. I’m rubbish at comics, me.

Jane missing it all because of tooth ache. Yet again, I realise while the human form is a miracle, it’s an exceptionally common and rubbish one. Like turning lead into pipes.

Jeff Smith turning up to buy the last copy of Oddcases being a good signal to pack everything up and go and watch people get grotesquely drunk at the Witherspoons.

Enough.