Friday, June 28, 2013


I remember waking to total darkness. The kind of darkness where you can't even see your hands infront of your face.  I couldn't even find my phone or the light switch. The Farmhouse/Manor I'd woken up in had shutters outside the window - I had no idea before I went to sleep that they'd be that effective. 

Eventually I found the light switch.

I was the first down to breakfast. It was a massive room with a huge oval dining table and a fire place so big you could roast an elephant in it. It even had seats in the fireplace. I was being observed by two sword fighting squirrels. Taxidermy humor.

Croisants and bread and jams and cake… plenty to eat. So, I tucked in. Slowly but surely and one by one the rest of Akileos, Ted Neifeh included, joined me. More eating. More talking. Then off to the festival.

The day began proper. Now, they say at Angouleme that the busiest day is the Saturday. So its weird that this day was incredibly busy. Busier than Quais Des Bulles in St Malo (a festival I LOVE, btw and I'll be documenting the heck out of this October when I go). A lot of foot traffic coming our way. 
"Pre-nom silverplate" and people wrote down their names for me and then I drew them either a Cthulhu, a Holmes or a Watson or a Hound or anything they wanted. But never a dog holding a red balloon (even though I'm always tempted to do just that when invited to 'draw what you like').

The immediate impression you get of French readers is the broad demographic— what you'd expect from a country where sequential art is a part of the culture not a part of the subculture as it is at home. That's not to sound downhearted in the least bit about 'the scene' back home because things are great and getting better all the while… plus, its Britain. We have a knack of doing great things with subculture. We did it with Punk.

On to the afternoon and many more books are signed and drawn in and then the day draws to a close. I think that by the end of either the first or second day, Glyn had sold all his copies of Nao. A lot of people coming up and getting their copies signed by him, even bringing copies bought in English. 
In essence my diary entries become increasingly scant on detail as each day really becomes much like the last. We get up, we breakfast, we arrive at the festival, we sign books. We lunch, we sign, we drink, we dine. We sleep, we rise. Repeat.

A vicious yet delicious cycle…

(to be concluded)

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