Watching men cut their cocks off on a chopping board and lighting fire-crackers stuffed into their foreskin isn't what's kept me off the internet this last week - you should all know me a little better by now. Instead, I've been away in Edinburgh and am now in Malmö with Jonotron, spending his pay rise on alcohol.
It's been a trip that I've very much needed, getting away from hospital appointments and talking to Incapacity Benefit on the phone every other day. Edinburgh was the usual maelstrom of Tom, Glo, Stephen and Joe mixed with strange internet videos, computer games and alcohol combined with a very light dash of theatre. Money being what it is, we couldn't go and see much - I'm slightly annoyed with myself for missing the Frida Kahlo biography, but very pleased that we caught Why We Ate Cliff Richard, which had enough farcical cannibalism to make us feel like we were having a proper Fringe.
Malmö hasn't really turned out to be much of a beach holiday, either, with us spending the week mostly hiding from the rain round the houses of friends and drinking too much wine and having to stagger home without any real idea of where the flat we're staying at is in relation to anywhere else. Wednesday, we met a lovely interpreter who works between Swedish and Chinese and he showed us videos of TV presenters throwing up on live TV, Thursday we went on a wonderfully long and meandering walk around Malmö and yesterday we went to Copenhagen to do a little bit of tourism, which wound up mostly involving helping Jim look at leather jackets in shops. We met a lovely guy who owns a shop there who talked quite candidly and beautifully about how one night coloured the rest of his life. While comparisons between traumas rarely seems like a good idea, it made me reflect on the murder I witnessed and how that meant that I spent an awfully long time dazed as a result of it. It's odd how the shadows of one night can cast a strange shade over everything for several years afterwards. It's slightly frightening to think that his story took place in 1989 and it's still left him scarred. Perhaps I have a long way to go yet before I can really say I'm in the clear.
(And people wonder why I want to make comics that are sad?)
Anyway, enough brooding. We got back to Malmö and hid from the festival here with its phenomenal Schlager offerings in favour of visiting more friends of Jim's, showing them how to play Quake on the iPhone, talking about how cute it is that there's now a Fair-Trade cola called Ubuntu and generally giggling at geeky things. We then went out to the interestingly-named Wonk club at the old Hippodrome here and had ourselves a surprisingly good time. The venue was beautiful, the sound system was dreadful and a round of drinks cost me a week's worth of benefits, more or less, but the gang of guys we were with easily made it worth it.
I'm back in the UK tomorrow and then I've got to work hard to get all of Badger scanned in and tidied up ready to have the file sent off to the Print-on-Demand place and then I've got to look forward to the wonderful fun of the research for the next story I want to tell, which is about a pterodactyl who gets raised by polar bears. I'm meeting the curators at the Natural History Museum on Tuesday for a couple of hours of looking at bones and talking about how realistic I can make the story.
Anyway, listen to me rabbit on; I should go and do something with my day, although I think it will mostly involve hiding from the rain and listening to Jonotron play DS games and giggle at him getting excited about levelling up his Magikarp. Don't ask; I think the BME Pain Olympics hurts less than the shame I feel admitting my boyfriend loves Pokémon.