Last Monday, I had the privilege to be part of an exhibition of comic art. (The flyer for the event is here on the left; it's on until the end of the month...please go! There's also art from proper comic artists John McCrea and Hunt Emerson) and, for the most part, it was a lovely evening.( Probably because I was still high from the day before when Villa trounced the scum 3-1 !) I had my picture taken for the local newspaper; I had lots of people saying nice things about my work to me; there was free booze, and my partner actually looked pleased to be sharing the same room as me.
But, as usual, there's always one fucker that ruins it.
A few days before, I posted the flyer on a website that deals with local events and issues. One of the members of the message board who has no life saw this and went.
As soon as he worked out who I was, he latched onto me like a leech who was more than a bit peckish, and could I fuck get rid of him again. He kept following me, asking where I was going after, and if me and the missus would like to join him for a drink. Having a stalker might be fun if the stalker was interesting, but this fellow was about as much fun as Heimat.
It was only when he was distracted by someone else for five minutes could I make my escape. As soon as his back was turned, I legged it. If this is what being relatively well-known is like, I think I might employ a bodyguard, or at least a bad hygiene problem, so the fuckers can't get that close to me in the first place!