My trip to Bristol part two: Saturday

The weather had sorted itself out by Saturday morning and it was an extremely sunny day. I got to the Commonwealth rooms (where the con was being held) about half-nine and already the queue was all the way down to the bottom of the street. None of that queueing for me, as I was an exhibitor, so I joined the much smaller queue of other exhibitors and waited to get my pass. In the queue I met Hunt Emerson and Tony Bennett (from Knockabout Press) and shot the breeze with them as we waited to get our passes. This was organised very haphazardly, and I ended up with a pass that just said 'Temporary Pass' written on it in biro.(Actually, it just said 'Tempy Pass') But, I got in, and met up with Andy Winter and got ready to launch our book Septic Isle. Our table was directly opposite the Forbidden Planet stall/toyshop, and we were at the end of the aisle, and it was a fantastic spot.

We had a good day. Septic Isle was selling very well, Andy and I were signing books all day, and I've never been asked for so many sketches before. I think, over the weekend, I did a couple of Marley (Our book's hero, as it were), a Sontaran from Doctor Who, The Phantom, Conan, Judge Dredd, Superman, and a few more I can't remember. I do remember how stained my hands were because of the inks from the pens I was using, though! A tip for budding artists out there; Don't buy those 99p black felt tips from WH Smith. they lose their point after about five minutes and they leak all over your fingers!

Andy and I at the Moonface Press table. Note the Aston Villa wristband, which, apparently, is a fashion faux-pas according to my girlfriend. A fashion faux-pas? At a comics convention?! Strange, I know!

The hall was hotter and sweatier than Lucifer's balls, and though it was just about bearable by where we were (we were by a door) at the back of the hall it was roasting, and there was a lot of sweating, judging by the funky aroma at the rear of the hall. We were kept hydrated by my lovely lady, who kept bringing us water, bless her! And I know this doesn't sound like me, pessimistic sod that I am, but everyone I met at the table were really nice, including the four really nice Muslim girls who each bought a copy of Septic Isle because of its anti-Nazi/BNP stance, but then me and Andy started worrying that the sex scenes, swearing and extreme violence might offend them, and we'd forgotten to warn them about it. oops!

Heather had devised an excellent escape plan for herself by inviting her friend Jane down to a)meet me and b) rescue her for lunch for an hour or so. I wish I'd thought of something similar but I've not got any friends! I did manage to escape for a bit and had a drink (hair of the dog; still a bit rough from our rainy drinking session the night before) with my girlfriend and her mate. This drew stares of astonishment from most of the punters because it was weird that a bloke emerging from that hall actually knows some women.

Also, as usual at these things, the costumed types turned up. There was a garrison of Star Wars stormtroopers accompanied by a Boba Fett, a Snowtrooper, a Death Star Gunner, and a big Biker Scout. They were a very game bunch, posing for photos and raising money for charity and they must've been sweating buckets under all that armour. Then there were the Cosplayers, mostly teenage girls (though there were some lads doing it too) dressed up as their favourite manga/anime character. I found some of the costumes a bit inappropriate for fourteen year-olds to be wearing, I'd never let my daughter wear that kind of gear, but then that's me probably being out of step with what kids are like these days. Also, I must mention the one girl (I think it was a girl, anyway) dressed as a polar bear, or a snow-wolf or whatever (just imagine a big white furry animal thing with a big head) it shows dedication to walk around in the oven that was Bristol Commonwealth Rooms covered in fur. Especially when most people looking at you don't even know what you're supposed to be dressed as. There weren't many people dressed as actual superheroes. There was an Elektra hanging with the Cosplayers, but that was about it. Actually, at one point Kev Sutherland accosted three of these Cosplayers by our table, there was Elektra, a girl dressed as what appeared to be a giant Warhammery tank thing with knives for fingers, and another general Japanesey type costume and asked them if they wanted to take part in a video he was making. He set up the camera on our table, put on a Benny Hawkins-style woolly hat and two sock puppets on his hands to become his alter-ego 'The Scottish Falsetto Sock-Puppet Theatre' then he explained to the girls that he would sing 'my name is...' and that they had to shout out who they were dressed as. Then he said(in a decidedly Sid James kinda way) 'I'll take you one at a time'. So then he proceeds to play out this patently ridiculous act three times in a row, while me and Andy look on wondering how weirder the day was going to get. I was worried I might get roped in, so I buggered off for a tactical fag. I had a T-shirt on that had the 70s Batman comics logo on it. So, while I was outside smoking and waiting for the ridiculousness to end, a lady photojournalist said to me 'Excuse me, Batman? Do you have a light?' This is the first time I've ever been accused of being a superhero, but I made some shitty joke about telling her not to call me that name in public, and I lit her ciggie for her before I went back in. Luckily, Elektra, General Japanesy, Warhammery Tank and the Jock Socks had all done one by the time I got back. Phew.

A good thing about these conventions is the fact that you get to meet and catch up with friends that, for one reason or another, you only see at these things. Great folk like Keith Burns (Blood Psi), Declan Shalvey (Hero Killers), Dave Evans(Futurequake) and Steve Tillotson (Banal Pig). Plus you meet and make new friends too. I met Jamie, who is a frequent commenter on this very blog, and his lovely wife Theresa, for the first time and we got along like a house on fire. (Probably a bit too well-see picture!)

Keith, Andy, Declan, Jamie and I all arranged to meet up and go for dinner at the end of the day's festivities, and so we did, after I went back to my hotel and changed my by-now stinky Batman T-shirt for a Kirby Hulk one (my cache of nerdy T-shirts is almost bottomless!) whilst watching the generally disappointing 'Doctor's Daughter' episode of Doctor Who. We went to a pub/restaurant called The Hole In The Wall where it took ages to get served because the poor lad serving us all had a broken arm. I asked him whether they forced him back to work, but he told me he volunteered to come back because he was bored. Jamie then replied something along the lines of 'I understand, well, you can't have a wank, can you?'

The meal was a good laugh, conversation basically consisted of us slagging off each other's favourite movies. well, except for Declan and Heather who agreed on almost everything. We also found out that, in the case of The Shawshank Redemption, Andy was 'on the side of the guards'. We all had to leave when Declan remembered he should've been at the Eagle awards because he was up for a gong for 'best newcomer artist'. We tried to convince him it would be cool and a bit rock n'roll not to turn up, but dec was having none of it, so we all headed to the nearby Ramada hotel where the awards ceremony was being held.

To Declan's relief, we got to the ceremony just as it started, and the rest of the group who weren't nominated for anything stayed at the rear of the hall, by the bar, and watched the ceremony and generally tutted at the announcement of most of the winners. All the people I knew that were nominated for awards came away empty handed. Pity. I think that the Eagles should celebrate British creators more, maybe have a couple of 'international' categories, because most of the time the awards were given to people who weren't there, because they're in the USA, and probably don't even know they've won. Still, it was cool to see legends like Walt Simonson and Dave Gibbons (who weirdly won 'best letterer'; to my knowledge he only letters his own art) up on stage. After a bit of commiserating with some of the losers, (although I didn't buy any of them a consolation drink as it was nearly FOUR QUID a pint!) we all went into the Ramada bar proper and 'shot the shit' with all the other artists, writers and general geeks I know. Random topics of conversation included Jimmy Saville's sexual proclivities and whether 'Lobster Thermidore' is a viable first name for a girl. After spilling most of last pint down my aforementioned Hulk T-shirt (I wasn't that pissed, I was nudged) Heather and I decided to head back to our hotel while it was relatively early. This was one o'clock in the morning!

Me in the Ramada bar, after the spillage incident. Notice how my coat is done up?

Still, it had been a fantastic day.

Another Ton Up, Guys n' Gals!!

Urgherurgherurgh!! Now then, now then, guys n' gals, Sir Jim'll here! As it 'appens, it's Mick's two hundredth post! Urgherurgherurgh. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Now then, now then, now then, I, Sir James of Saville, as is traditional, 'ave fixed it for young Michael to go back in time, as it 'appens, and pick out the best bits of posts 101-199. As if I've got the time, what with me being attacked and 'aving my glasses stolen by a young lady! Stoke Mandeville! I used to be a wrestler, as it 'appens! I could kill people with my bare feet in the old days! These days, I can't get my trainers off, guys n' gals! Women, give you brain damage, they do. If I was thirty years younger, I'd have had her in a Boston crab before you could say 'Jingle Jangle!' Urgherurgherurgh! This first excerpt is from November last year:

"Last night was the launch party/exhibition for the MC2 book . I say party, but unlike every other party I've been to, I didn't vomit."
Hows about that , then, guys n' gals! Vomit! Lovely, lovely, lovely! Next up, from the same month, young Michael treats us to his views on the latest incarnation of Jim'll Bond, as it 'appens:
"Daniel Craig is excellent as 007. The fact that he is not physically the stereotypical Bond means that you don't automatically compare him to Sean Connery, as you do with every other actor who has wielded the Walther.(Like the hair colour was that important anyway. Roger Moore's hair was a kind of sandy brown and Connery's hair depended on what shop he bought it from.)"
Now then, now then, Sir Jimmy 'as never had much time for hairpieces. I've always preferred wearing my hair like Prince Valiant, only longer and whiter and more scruffy, as it 'appens! I reckon toupees give you brain damage, like women do. Urgherurgherurgh! In this next post, also from last November, he has a go at a colleague. Sometimes in your life, young Michael, you have to work with people you hate. Like the Hairy Cornflake, as it 'appens! Beardy get, he was!

"This annoying colleague is a fat bastard. I'm not against overweight people (I'm one myself! It cost me the Bond gig!) but he is fat, and he is a bastard. He substitutes shouting for personality, he substitutes repetition for wit, and he substitutes repetition for wit. He likes bullying the temps, and grabbing other colleagues in bear hugs or half-nelsons. I won't stand for any of that shit. He's an arsehole. A fat sweaty, lazy gobshite whose father should have pulled out early. When he was aimlessly making annoying noises and shouting that same afternoon, I told him to "stick a pie in it" to which he threatened to knock me out. Ooooohh, I'm scared! He's like a fucking pelican ie. all beak. With a flapping bag attached. I'd like to see him try and knock me out, because a)He'd get the sack and b)he'd get my toecap right under his third chin.
Sounds like that young chap needs to lose weight. Now then, now then, it just so 'appens the best way of doing that is to run a marathon. Jingle jangle jewellery! Just ignore the Mars bar they give you afterwards, guys n' gals! Another way of losing the pounds is to avoid meat, as it 'appens:
"Last night I went to a vegetarian curry house. It was full of the people I expect to see at these places. Old hippies. Men (and probablywomen) with beards, sandal wearers, those people with ridiculous Lapp reindeer herder-type wooly hats,and ill-looking young couples who are probably only in there because they were born too late to go on CND marches. Vegetarianism needs to get trendy if it's going to convert people. For every Joaquin Phoenix making it cool you've got a Carla Lane bringing it down again.It was a buffet affair which meant you can have as much sick as you like. The after-effects today were startling, with my stomach being bloated up with gas which has been seeping out in cabbagey bursts every five minutes or so. So further proof to myself, should I need it, that I'm definitely a carnivore."
Tofu gives you brain damage. As do women, as it 'appens. Spend any time with a vegetarian woman and you'll end up wired up to a machine at Stoke Mandeville. Just look at Heather Mills, guys n' gals. She's unbalanced. Sir Jim'll knows how to fix that, four beer mats under the other leg! Urgherurgherurgh! This next excerpt is from December last year, as it 'appens:
"John Barrowman thinks he's the new Tom Cruise but he reminds me of Grandstand's John Inverdale. The direction is also annoying. All those panoramic shots of Cardiff, like it's cool! All those bits where it's slow motion for a few seconds before it returns to normal speed, just to make the gang look cool when they're getting out of their van. Which, incidentally, just makes them look a bit like Scooby-Doo and the Mystery Machine gang."
Sir Jimmy reckons young Barrowman's got the right idea. He doesn't knock about with women, as it 'appens, and he hasn't got brain damage! Sir Jim'll is vindicated! These next few posts are all about Christmas, guys n' gals. Sir Jim'll's been a good lad this year, as it 'appens, and I'm hoping for a brand new shell suit and a few big cubans. The cigars, I mean! Give you lung damage! Urgherurgherurgh!
"I did some Xmas shopping today, and the bastard who first coined the phrase 'goodwill to all men' obviously never tried to buy any presents in Argos on any Saturday in December.

"Like most things, I blame my indifference to Christmas on my parents. My Dad would not let me and my brothers believe in Father Christmas. He said, and I'm paraphrasing; "I work fucking hard all year to pay for your presents, and I'm not letting some imaginary fat cunt from Lapland get all the glory!" He's got a point, but I reckon it took a little of the magic away from the festivities."

"Christmas also has other pitfalls, i.e. relatives. There are the ones that don't make any contact at all and upset you with their indifference to you at this time of year. At the other end of the scale there are those who you wish would just fuck off and leave you alone. Those people you are related to because your partner is related to them, and even she doesn't particularly like them, either, but we feel obliged to either go to their houses or let them come to ours. I know it sounds ungrateful, as they do want to see us and give us our gifts, but I could really do without listening to my Mother-In-Law fart loudly on Boxing Day. Saying that, I could really do without listening to my Mother-In-Law at all. "

No mother in the world could hold a candle to the Duchess, god rest 'er. Still, young Michael is bein' a bit cheeky, guys n' gals, having a go at his family, specially at Christmas time. In his next post, from January, Mick tells us about his New Year resolutions. My resolution is to get a new pair of glasses, because that brain-damaging bitch pinched mine!
"Every year I make the same resolutions ie. Eat less pies and pack up the fags (cigarettes, if you're American) but I'm still a 20-a-day man, and I smoke like a chimney. So this year, I'm making some resolutions I can keep."
Sir Jim'll is thinking about giving up the Cubans, but I reckon I'll just give up the cigars instead! Jingle Jangle! This next post is again about a weird colleague. Did I tell you about DLT? Urgherurgherurgh! Pipe smoking bastard! Pipes give you brain damage, as it 'appens!
His name is John, and he has this habit of suddenly breaking into song for no reason. He's not just singing along to the shitty radio. He's singing African songs. Out loud. Which is unsettling, because it means he is enjoying himself. Yesterday, I was putting my water bottle back into my locker after lunch, and, unbeknownst to me, John was right behind me, and , unexpectedly, started shouting ANC-type chants. It scared the living shit out of me. The last thing I need at the moment is a member of Ladysmith Black Mambazo with dreams of a solo career practicing down my earhole."
Now then, now then, as it 'appens, this next post is about women. You know what I think about them:
" Still, I suppose it gives us something new to argue about, other than the usual money and sex disagreements. I think she charges me too much."
I told you, young Michael, they give you brain damage! You want to stay sane, you be like me! Urgherurgherurgh!! Jingle jangle jewellery! Lovely, lovely, lovely! This is the age of the train!!
"I might have mentioned that I'm in a book called MC2 , which is out now in most bookshops of quality. You just have to look very hard for it. It was weird seeing it in Waterstone's the other weekend. A story I've written and drawn is on sale in Waterstone's! It was tucked in between a history of Wonder Woman and a book on old Commando comic strips, but even so, it felt nice. I wonder if Salman Rushdie feels the same when he's in Waterstone's with his bodyguard and sees Midnight's Children? I bet he has a wry smile under his fake beard."
As it 'appens, Sir Jim'll tried reading Midnight's Children, but it just so 'appens it wasn't about some geezer called Midnight who fixes it for boy scouts to eat ice-cream on a roller coaster, so I binned it before it gave me brain damage. Staying on the literary theme, Mick reflects on his losing the Jane Eyre comic gig:
"I'm thinking of doing a sequel to it, called Eyre 2: Bertha's Revenge, when the mental woman in the loft comes back as a zombie and starts eating the household staff, until Rochester trips her up with his white stick and then Jane dashes her brains out with a copy of Gulliver's Travels.I think it's got legs, that idea...."
Less chance of brain damage if they've been dashed out! Jingle jangle! In this next post, guys n' gals Mick again goes on about his bloody colleagues. He should just wrestle 'em, like that time I got DLT in a half-nelson and knocked that pipe out of his bearded gob! Urgherurgherurgh!
Recently, at my shitty job, we've had half-a-dozen Poles and a Czech start work, and so far, I've got no problem with them. They work hard, don't annoy me and keep themselves to themselves. If only my English colleagues were the same. One of my old (English) colleagues said to me :"We're being invaded by Poland! It's supposed to be the other way round!"I told him that it wasn't us that invaded Poland, it was the Third Reich, but, judging by his comments, he was probably on Hitler's side. "
Hitler, he was a bad fella, guys n' gals. Probably brain damaged, as it 'appens, now in this next post, young Michael has a go at the Holy Roman Empire:
"If it wasn't for the Roman Catholic stance on contraception, there wouldn't be so many unwanted children in the first place, and if you ask me, getting vulnerable children away from the Catholic church can only be a good thing. Remember, the current Pope tried to hush up all the claims of sexual abuse in Catholic institutions.They say Homosexuality isn't natural, yet they deny Jesus had any kind of sexual relationship with women. they forbid their Priests from having sex or getting married. This tells me that they think men having sex with women is bad. You'd think they'd be all for homosexuality.Think about it. Jesus knocked about with twelve geezers who were all 'fishers of men'. The only woman Christ loved was Madonna. If all that washing of feet stuff doesn't have a gay subtext, then my uncle wasn't Mr. Gay UK!"
Sir Jimmy's thinking about becoming a priest,as it 'appens, if it keeps you away from ladies. I wonder if they'd let me wear a shell suit? Jingle jangle! Archbishop Sir Jim'll of Saville MBE! Urgherurgherurgh! This next post is from February, where he kinda sticks to the theme of contraception. Not for Sir Jimmy! Like having a bath with your socks on, guys n' gals!
"My rubber (Eraser, if you're a Yank. Rubbing prophylactics on my artwork is not something I've tried yet, but some people might say it can't make it any worse. I hate those people.) decided to eat big chunks out of the bristol board and leave grey smears all over the place. I changed rubbers (the new one wasn't ribbed.) and this wouldn't get rid of the smears."

Now then, now then, Mick is on the subject of romance:
"Yesterday, as you all know was St. Valentine's Day, a day made famous by a massacre. Me and the missus don't generally make much of a fuss on Valentine's, but this year I thought I'd treat her, especially after the care she took of me during my illness, so I bought her a nice new bag and a new belt. When I gave them to her, though, she went mental and didn't speak to me all day. Still, the hoover works a treat, now.

How's about that then! I know I sound like a stuck record (you'd get a few of them on a certain beardy DJ's amateurish radio show, as it 'appens!) but women are bad for your brain. Sticking on the subject of brain damage, guys n' gals, young Michael next goes on about those brain damaged people who want to contact the dead. Not like me, I just sit in the Duchess' room for a bit!
'Psychics' are shysters. You've just got to look at Derek Acorah. They never tell us anything good, like the winning Lotto numbers, or the winner of the Cheltenham Gold Cup, they just tell us sub-horoscope "you'll meet a tall dark stranger" cobblers, and pretend it's not them making it up, it's your dead relatives telling you a revealing truth. Which is a load of shit. I can't believe in an afterlife , and if there is one, I don't reckon it's full of spirits desperate to tell their living relatives that the lamp found on the skip is worth a lot of money. Why otherwise intelligent people want to waste their money on this crap is beyond me.
Is there anybody there? No, just Sir Jim'll! Urgherurgherurgh!! This next post is from March, where Michael has a go at charity, as it 'appens!
"I thought the humour on this year's Comic Relief was in very bad taste. Those sketches based in Africa just weren't funny. What we want is more Mr. Bean!"
Now then, now then, it just so 'appens raising money for charity is hard work. How many marathons has young Michael ran? Exactly! If he starts mouthing off like that round me, guys n' gals, I'll give him brain damage! He's not listening to me, anyway, as this next post is about his attempts to meet women! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"Having a nose around this dating site, all the people on there have a list of their qualities on their profiles. Nearly all of them say 'Confident, Outgoing, Intelligent', the usual bollocks. If that is the case then, why do they have to use online dating to meet people? Some people are that confident that they don't even post their picture on their profile! The rest of their profile is so astounding that I was already in love with them, so seeing what they look like is irrelevant.Bollocks. What they probably look like is an elephant. (See what I did there? Rhyming!)"
Now then, what they probably are, is brain-damaged. This next post is about the end of Lent, as it 'appens!
"Happy Easter. The time we remember the pain and suffering and violent death of Jesus as he sacrificed himself to save us by eating Creme Eggs. "
I prefer marathons! Urgherurgherurgh!!! Oh, hang on, they're called 'Snickers' these days, aren't they? This next bit, as it 'appens, is from May, and young Mick is reflecting on how attractive he is to the ladies. What does Sir Jim'll keep saying to you, Mick?! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"I think, when it comes to how I look, I'm kind of in the Coca-Cola championship in the English football league of looks, up there with the Ipswich Towns and Southamptons (also, quite aptly, those teams' glory days are long behind them!) not up there with the Man Uniteds or Arsenals, but not nearly as ugly as the Walsalls or the Leyton Orients."
Sir Jim'll's not a fan of football. All them hooligan guys n' gals with brain damage. Wrestling's my game! Jingle jangle! Now, this next post is about bloody dating again. I reckon it's too late for young Michael, the damage is irreversible by now, as it 'appens.
"I didn't have the time to tell you about the four or five really sexually explicit messages I received through a dating site from a mad woman from Worcester. She went into really graphic detail (it was almost like a biology lesson) about the things she was going to do to me. Seeing as a lot of it involved shoving things into my anus, I politely declined her advances.
Worcester's too far away, anyway! Can you imagine having to walk back with a sore arse?"
Worcester's about 25 miles away from where Michael lives, that's nearly a marathon. Sore arse or not, a foil blanket and a Mars bar'll sort you out! Urgherurgherurgh!! This next post was from July and it got him into a lot of trouble from middle-aged brain-damaged women!
"He is a national treasure and should be knighted forthwith. We knight tossers like Cliff Richard instead, a bloke who made a wet day at Wimbledon even worse!"
Cliff's a good bloke, as it 'appens, does a lot for charity, like me, guys n' gals. His bag stinks, but he's alright, as it 'appens. Much better than Dave Lee Travis, as it 'appens! Now then, now then, now then, this next post is from August, and young Michael regales us with tales from Wales: Jingle jangle! That rhymed! Sir Jim'll's not just a pretty face! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"Whoever said all brides are beautiful obviously didn't see some of the brides-to-be I witnessed. Bloody hell. In one bar, there was one extremely rough-looking obese woman wearing L-plates and a veil (so I assume she was the bride to be) carrying a giant inflatable penis, 'dancing' and singing 'Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?'. The irony was obviously lost on her. Unless she was genuinely too warm."
I'm getting the brain machine at Stoke Mandeville ready, as it 'appens! Young Master Trimble is too far gone! Urgherurgherurgh!! Now then, now then, this next post is from September, where he bangs on about his so-called sartorial elegance:
Maybe they should do another, similar documentary about another misunderstood minority in this country called He's A Thoroughly Modern Nerd, where I could talk about how society stereotypes me and thinks I'm oppressed, and think I'm forced to wear strange clothes, clothes like my rather cool Silver Surfer t-shirt.
You should stick to shell suits, like Sir Jimmy. Now then, now then, seeing as you're a nerd, Michael, I've got a suit with Superman all up the front of it, as it 'appens, if you want to borrow it. This next post is from October, and it's about an ironing room in Carlisle, as it 'appens:
"It has to be the most soul-destroying room in the whole world .(Actually, Birmingham City's trophy room is probably worse, but seeing as no-one has ever needed to go in there, we'll never know.)"
Apparently, shitting on the City gives you brain damage! Urgherurgherurgh!! This one's about chocolate, also from October, as it 'appens:
" One thing that's always bothered me is the fact that Cadbury's make a big deal of the fact that there's a glass and a half of milk in every bar, but exactly how much is a 'glass'? What recognised system of weights and measures are they using to quantify the amount of milk used? Maybe they should change it to 'a petri dish and a half of salmonella in at least 10% of our bars'."
Now they're not called Marathons anyore, I won't eat 'em, guys n'gals. My favourite choccy bar is now the Mars bar you get after the London marathon, as it 'appens. Tastes like victory!We're virtually up to date, now, this is from a post from this November:
"Many months ago, I did a strip for the Jonas Moore people (a comic strip, I must add. Me taking my clothes off will not impress anybody, especially potential employers)"
I had to strip down to my trunks when I was a wrestler. Never did me any harm. Urgherurgherurgherurgherurgherurgherurgh!!!! How's about that, then, I've fixed it for young Michael and yourselves to look over the last hundred posts. thanks for sticking around, guys n' gals! Hopefully it's not given you brain damage, but maybe the next hundred will! Jingle Jangle!

Now then, now then, If you're stuck for Christmas gift ideas, guys n' gals, why don't you buy 'em my Christmas single, 'Jimmy Jangle' which I've re-released as it 'appens, all profits go to Stoke Mandeville. Watch the video film for it below, guys n' gals! So until next time, Urgherurgherurgherurgh!!

Ton up! (As it 'appens!)

Jingle jangle jewellery! Sir Jim'll here! As it 'appens, it's Mick's one hundredth post! Urgherurgherurgh. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Now then, now then, now then, I, Sir James of Saville 'ave fixed it for young Michael to go back in time, as it 'appens, and pick out the best bits of previous posts. Urgherurgherurgh. This is the age of the train! Jingle jangle!
This is from his first post, as it 'appens, from way back in February:
"Yes, you guessed it, I am a comics nerd, but unlike most other comics nerds, I don't stink of piss and self-abuse. (Well, 85% of the time, anyway.) If you are also a comics nerd and are offended, I'm sorry, I do stink really, I'm just trying to sound all cool and that."
Now then, this is also from February, urgherurgherurgh:
"I should be on the Friends Reunited website, but I'm playing truant!"
Stoke Mandeville!Jingle Jangle! Young Michael went missing in March, as it 'appens! So, Sir Jim'll 'as fixed it for us to jump straight to April:
"Having a stalker might be fun if the stalker was interesting, but this fellow was about as much fun as Heimat."
Urgherurgherurgh! Women give you brain damage, as it 'appens. This next one is from May, the same month as Mick's birthday, as it 'appens:
" I'm the very slim, dapper, young-looking sex symbol in the middle. This was in the Birmingham Mail, my local paper, about a week ago. It could've been worse; I look nearly normal. My friend Mikey Ball (top right) had his full name printed, which gets him confused with a chubby chanteur who was in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and his photo makes him look like a sex case."
Now then, now then, a few days later, Mick posted this little gem:
"On the way to some grub, what appeared to be the last surviving archaeoptyryx shat on both shoulders of my coat."
Lovely, lovely, lovely. At the end of May, as it 'appens, jingle jingle, he posted this:
"There were a few explicit comic strips of WW having sex with various superheroes, and there was one of her getting raped by the Hulk, which may be morally and politically and legally wrong, I object to because Hulk is Marvel and Wonder Woman is DC! If Hulk was going to rape anyone, at least make it someone from his own universe!"
Urgherurgherurgherurgh! A bit naughty of young Michael to mention the subject of 'surprise sex', as it 'appens! I'm just glad the Duchess isn't here to hear it! Now then, now then, let's skip across to June, as it 'appens:
"Drawing old people moaning about their feet has really worn me out. Chore I hate: Sketching podiatrists!"
Couple of days later, this came in:
" Keep going, turn left. I did today, and there is a kind of pricing war going on. Firstly, there is Poundland, the first and most well known of the Pikey Paradises. As you can guess, everything in there costs £1. Round the corner is the "99p Store". Every item costs 99p! Stick your extortionate quid, Poundland! Everything here is ONE WHOLE PENNY CHEAPER! Around another corner, though, and I kid you not, is the"98p Chinese Store"! It's like a backwards auction."
Now then, now then, now then. Lovely, lovely. This next one is, as it'appens, jewellery jewellery, also from June:
"Yesterday, there was a sale of £10 million pounds worth of Princess Margaret's personal belongings, apparently to help pay Lord Linley's inheritance tax bill.Why didn't they just take the empties back?"
Urgherurgherurgh!! Now then, 'aving a pop at the Royal Family is not on, as it 'appens, they do a good job, God bless 'em. Not least since they made me 'Sir' Jim'll MBE. This next one is not nearly as republican:
"Remember Dustin Diamond? He was the waste of skin whose only talent was to talk in an annoying voice. "
This next one is from when the World Cup was on. Now then, now then, Sir James is not so keen on football. Gives you brain damage.Urgherurgherurgh. Wrestling's the game for me! Jingle Jangle! Stoke Mandeville!
"The thing that annoys me most, though, is those stupid call-centre microphones the panel insist on wearing. They don't have to! The second string on ITV4 don't wear them! You won't see the BBC crew wear those. Which is just as well because it would make Alan Hansen look more like Captain Scarlet than he does already."
Now then, we've finished with June, as it 'appens, so lets fast forward to July!
"It's like my mom used to say: 'Cheaters never prosper'. (Saying that though, she also used to tell us we were about to have 'shit with egg on' for tea, and Henry and Matthew Kelly were brothers, so I'd take a lot of what she says with a whole handful of salt.)"
Urgherurgherurgh! Showing disrespect towards his dear old mother! Now then, now then! If I said owt like that to my dear old lady, the Duchess, God rest her, as it 'appens, she'd confiscate me cigar! Jingle Jangle! Now then, this next 'highlight', and I use the word sarcastically, is also from July:
"Here in Birmingham, the local radio station, BRMB, stopped broadcasting for two minutes to join in the paying of respects for the victims of 7/7. Just before, though, they just happened to play Going Underground by The Jam!"
Stoke Mandeville! He's 'aving a go at us Disc Jockeys, now ! Wait 'til I tell DLT! Hairy cornflake, as it 'appens!! Needs his bottom smacked, as it 'appens!
This next one is also from the World Cup:
"Apparently, Theo Walcott has tested positive in a drug's test. They found traces of Calpol."
He's having a go at little kiddies now! If I see 'im, I'll have 'im in a Boston Crab, just like when I was a wrestler! Urgherurgherurgh!!!
Now then, now then, July was a busy month for young Mister Trimble's blog, as it 'appens, this next one being from that month also:
"Despite the prelim being written by your typical piss-smelling comics-nerd virgin whose knowledge of what a naked woman looks like is gleaned from Rob Liefeld's shitty drawings in X-Force, the ten books chosen make interesting reading."
Sir Jim'll has sympathy for young Mister Liefeld. Now then, it just so 'appens Sir James can't draw feet either. This Mister Trimble's giving me brain damage!
Now then, I've started this marathon, I might as well finish it. Jingle Jangle!This next one is also from July:
"While at Bristol Comic Expo last year with the comic Stuffed, I was sat behind a table drawing for a very nice, but mental Dutchman. While I was doing it, a middle-aged moustachioed man sat down next to me and starting drawing. He asked If he could borrow a rubber (eraser, if you're american-it's not that type of moustachioed middle-aged men story!) I didn't have one, so he borrowed it from someone else. It was Brian Bolland!"
Gaze into the fist of Sir Jim'll MBE!! Urgherurgherurgh!!This next one was written during the hot weather:
"I can't take my shirt off to cool down for health reasons. Other people will get sick if they see my pale chubby midriff."
Take my advice, young Michael. Wear a shell-suit. Very cool in hot weather, as it 'appens, and it's flame retardant! Now then, isn't 'retardant' another word for someone with Brain Damage? Urgherurgherurgh!! Let's jump to August now:
" Increasingly, these days, it is getting harder to buy comics in comics shops. It's even more difficult to buy what us bona-fide piss-smelling self-abusing comics nerds really want (besides a good bath): Back issues."
You see, the wearing of a light shellsuit stops you sweating and smelling, as it 'appens! Now then, seeing as you're a comics geek, I could lend you my suit that's got Superman all up the front of it. Lovely, lovely, lovely! Now then, is this Marathon anywhere near finished yet? Should've took the locomotive! Jingle Jangle Jewellery! This is the age of the train! Urgherurgherurgh! This came in a few days later:
"I was in there the other day whilst my better half was looking for a birthday gift for a colleague. While I was doing that obligatory 'man shopping' thing (ie. Huffing and moaning and saying 'Yeah, that's nice' to everything I was asked for my opinion of)"
Now then, now then! I told you, young Mister Trimble, all women except the Duchess, God rest her, give you brain damage. Anyway, the next excerpt is from another 'hot weather' type subject, ice cream, as it 'appens:
"The ice-cream man was called Clive and if you only had 10p, he would give you what was called 'froth'. You'd give him a bowl and he'd fill it with unwhipped creamy fluid that was either going to be ice-cream, or had been in its youth. Anyway, not only was Clive a purveyor of frozen ices, 99s and crushed nuts, he was the local loan-shark. So you'd stand there waiting your turn in the queue, behind a crying alcoholic asking to be 'let off' that week, as he'd pissed his giro up the wall. Very strange. "
Now then, Sir James of Saville can't stand ice cream, as it's temperature reminds me of the dead young flesh. Urgherurgherurgh!
Next up, also from August, as it 'appens:"Oh dear.I remember seeing this on 'Live And Kicking' and Andi "spell it with an 'I', it's wacky!"Peters saying how much he loved it. Having Andi "spell it with an 'I', it's wacky!" Peters liking anything is going to put me off that thing forever."
Stoke Mandeville! He's only knocking kiddies TV presenters! Urgherurgherurgh! Hardest job in the world, young man. You want to try getting kids to eat ice cream and jelly on a roller-coaster! Jingle Jangle! This next one concerns his artwork, as it 'appens:
"This is my latest creation. He is called the Arts Champion, and he goes around Birmingham unlocking Brummies' creative powers at bus stops. In my experience, most Brummies' creativeness at bus stops extends as far as writing 'VILLA KILL BCFC' or 'SHAZZA IS A SLUT' on the window in permanent marker, but never mind."
Lovely, lovely, lovely. I reckon all vandals have got brain damage. Spent too much time with women. Now then, now then, let's jump over to September:
"I had another go at that face recognition/celebrity lookalike thing I've seen on a few other blogs. I've used at least four different pictures, and it keeps coming up with the same result: Pete Fucking Doherty. He's got the same colour hair as me! That's all! He's probably only weighs about eight stone wringing wet! I'm at least two-stone overweight. I wear glasses, he doesn't. He has an up-and-down relationship with a stroppy cow, and I...err...well, you get the idea."
That young Mister Doherty would do well to just use drugs and kick young Miss Moss into touch. Less chance of brain damage. Jingle Jangle! This is also from the lovely month of September, as it 'appens:
"This Pope has said a silly thing which has upset people. I mean, before, he was just a nice, straightfoward, ultra-conservative homophobic ex-Nazi in a dress, but now he said all wars are unholy, I've gone off him."
Is no-one safe from this man's gob?! He's 'ad a go at the Royals, his dear old mum and now the Pope!Urgherurgherurgh!
Now then, let's see if it gets any better:"I was so full of urine my usual shy-bladder syndrome was disabled; Sing Hosanna! I could piss freely at the urinal! Whilst I was there, a man (well it was the Gents') was making really wet noises. My curiousity was piqued. I had to look. This man had a penis at least twice the length of mine ( so it must've been at least 20" long!) and instead of shaking it like the rest of us, he was spin drying his with a kind of helicopter-type motion. It was like he was trying to throw a grapple hook. But it was the sound that got me, it was like the wet, slapping noises a fish might make if it's flying against a wall."
Jingle jangle! In-depth descriptions of a stranger's personal private hospital (Stoke Mandeville) parts .Now then, now then! Jim will fix it for you to see a shrink! You've obviously got brain damage! Now then, now then, we're finally entering October:"He's had an ear infection for as long as I've known him (12 years) which sometimes results in a piccalilli-type substance running out of the side of his head. Once, while eating a kebab, a farmfoods one you have to warm up yourself, a bit of bone in it blocked his passages and was choking him. After lots of wet retching and sucking sounds, he regurgitated what he'd been eating into his hands, flicked out the offending piece of bone, and swallowed it all back down again. "
Lovely, lovely, lovely. That finally brings you up to date.We've finally crossed the finish line and got our foil blanket and Mars bar.Urgherurgherurgh! So young Michael's reached one hundred not out, as it 'appens! Let's hope, once his brain damage is cleared up by my good friends at Stoke Mandeville, his next hundred are in better taste! Jingle Jangle Jewellery!