So yeah, Mr Shelton was a lovely old fella, but in the main I really can't be arsed to queue for hours to chat with writers and artists. That's the main reason I haven't bothered with the MCM Expo today. I'm sure it'll be great. I was half tempted to go just to gawp at the cosplaying masses, but I find it hard to get enthused at the thought of standing in line to get Warren Ellis to scrawl his name on a comic when he so clearly doesn't really want to be there.
In truth, as much as I love comics, I find the people who collect them a lot more interesting than those who create them. That's why I enjoy the stinky old marts so much. I'm far more comfortable people watching at The Royal National than I would be trying to make small talk with Jamie McKelvie. I can see the attraction of starting a sketch book, or getting a few commissions done to stick on the wall, but I'd rather be rifling through longboxes of decaying tat than mixing with the great and the good of the comics world.
What a miserable old cunt, eh?