"Hmm, that's strange", I thought as I left the humidity of the underground on this hot summers day. "There seem to be a LOT of attractive girls around this part of London". Angel and the surrounding area were foreign to me, only ever having gone there once when I was 17 for a friends gig, so for all I know it could be populated by an entire race much like the Cantina Band from Star Wars. How would I remember, underage drinking was all the rage to a 17 year old me. I wouldn't normally question the level of girls attraction. I do after all have a girlfriend. But what shocked me today was the reason that I was here and whether, just maybe, it was to do with said attractive girls: I was here for a comic book convention. Like all geeks know, attractive girls who share the same passion as you, be it cult cinema, videogames, or my personal niche comic books, are incredibly rare. We try to get our current girlfriends interested in this stuff, only to have 'it's only a game' or 'I don't know how to read a comic' thrown back in our gaping, hopeful faces. Therefore these girls are the creme de la creme of the geek world and wanted more than a second series of Firefly. As I joyfully trotted through the streets of the North-East London suburb toward the convention, I noticed that yes, a lot of these girls were heading my way. When I got in, and after raiding the complimentary goody bag for mentionable goodies (there was nothing worth a mention), I realised that this strange state of events occurred inside the venue, too. Had the unthinkable happened? Had our world of Green Lanterns and X-Men finally merged with the hipster culture that caged so many of the so called 'cool-kids'? I wasn't sure. To be quite honest, I didn't overly care. The line for a John Romita Jr. signing was huge and the eyecandy was a welcome addition. I was getting a little bit tired of having to stare at so many bearded, tubby men selling fan-art.
I got bored of the queuing so after buying a particularly attractive Amazing Spider-Man #600 variant, I hopped on the tube and darted back home to see some friends. It was a nice day, and I didn't overly want to waste it. On the tube however, I encountered a pet hate of mine. It's not that I dislike them as people. I'm sure most of them are lovely. But when you're caught in the confines of a metal box, hearing a father discuss every. single. bloody. thing that you pass with his two teacher's pet children can really grate on your nerves. "Oh look over there boys it's *insert name of generic London landmark we've all seen and even you've probably seen a few times but you insist on showing off*" If I wanted to hear this rubbish, I'd jump on an open top bus. But I wouldn't do that. I'm not a tourist and I don't care. So keep it to yourself. Or at least visit them as opposed to commenting from the far reaches of the District line.
Over and out
p.s. don't put any money on a horse just due to it having a slightly silly name. Even on Grand National day, it doesn't pay off.