The Real Slim Apa

Hmm... Sorry, not the best photo in the world. Have some prettier pics of London to make up for it.

So to start at the most important event of the day, I woke up. There were hallelujahs and choirs of angels and the normal giving of thanks. Then things went smoothly until I arrived in London and discovered...

The Comic Showcase is no more!

Holding in my grief, I made sure that Forbidden Planet was still in its normal orbit. I failed to find Mike's comics and resisted drooling over the Marvel ones as I hadn't factored in the extra time for this jaunt and needed to meet with my vict... I mean, friends.

Probably looking gormless and lost, I hesitated at the threshold of the bar Athel recommended (and looking at the bucket of alcohol she called a drink it was easy to see why). Not for long though as Athel and Apocryphalbiped (I just realised that I was the only person whose "name" didn't start with an A) were already there and deep into their intoxication.

I ordered a French Martini. It wasn't as good as the one at Angel's.

It was nearing 6 o'clock and main topic of conversation was which freak of nature we could take a picture of and say it was the absent Apa who had obviously thought twice about having drinks with three older women. There was the man dressed in the Superman costume followed by a Supergirl and Porn Star (we assume). There were the small boys with punkish hairstyles (we feared reprisal from mothers). And then there was the guy in the blue t-shirt we decided to kidnap and make our own.

There were more drinks. I do think Apa going for the champagne cocktail was girly but I am probably only jealous because I didn't discover cocktails (beyond Bucks Fizz) until two years ago.

There was food. In Chinatown. There was also dance. In Trafalger Square. Well, I say dance... but if Apa tried to pull any of those moves on the dance floor, he wouldn't be pulling anything else. People in big wheels was a particular favourite (watchers showed their appreciation by reading the newspaper when the news sheets weren't being used as a shield from the typical summer rain). Biped and I were genuinely pleased by the half nekkid man with a skirt but would have been more pleased had they staged it anywhere near where we were sitting. In the end biped decided that our distance from him and the way we couldn't see more than snatches of his dance due to all the people only served to add mystery. Finally (well, finally for us as we scarpered before it ended) we had what biped charmingly describes as "random percussion sounds punctuated with the howls of a man who might have had his Avocado's trapped in his underpants". There is no way I could describe it better than that.