Gaiman high

Part 2
July 9, 2005 @ Rockwell Tent

My foresight sometimes frightens me. Sometimes I’d call it paranoia. It doesn’t hurt to be a little paranoid—especially when it comes to matters of schedule. I told my TPTS and TPON friends that I would be gracing the premises of Rockwell at around 10:00AM, 10:30AM the latest. But nooooo...



I was already staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed and very much awake at about 5:00am in the morning. I figured out that climbing out of bed and departing from home as I usually did in weekdays for work on a freaking Saturday was an exaggeration, but restlessness drowned all reason and I got up about fifteen minutes later, hit the shower, donned myself all in black and proceeded to iron my natural eighteenth-century-looking curls while having second thoughts of whether or not to bring the video camera.

“I don’t think so,” my mother said half an hour later, when she divined my intentions while I searched for an extra set of video cam batteries. “For someone who’s commuting, you’re carrying too many valuables.”

Dang.

I met my bleary-eyed brother who I had to wake up in order for him to drive me to the shuttle station.

“Why so early?” he asked ponderingly.

I faintly recall projecting a funny sound from my throat which promptly signaled him to jump into the driver’s seat after having a bit of washing and breakfast.

To my immense relief, there was no long line of passengers waiting for a ride (because usually, there was). I checked my mobile phone from time to time despite the fact that I have turned my ringing and message alert tone volumes to the maximum. Then I received Kuya Hector’s message, and then I sort of panicked, and I texted Anne, and she texted back, and I ended the text conversation that I was nearing our rendezvous point.

“Wow, all black!” exclaimed Anne when I walked up to meet her at the portion of Greenbelt 3 where Greenbelt was spelled in humongous letters. “Is that your costume?”

“Nope, I’ll change when we get there,” I wheezed happily. Then we began our quest for an empty cab contemplating how slightly nerve-racking it was to already have a 30-people line as early as a few minutes to 8am. In the cab, though, we had visions of a100-people line which may be already commencing by the time we got to the Rockwell Tent.

“Let’s try not to worry. As long as we’re the first 200, we’re fine,” I assured myself and Anne.

“Yup,” she replied.

“Where’s Rockwell Tent?” I dreamily asked when the cab started circling the outskirts of Rockwell.

Ten utterly flustering minutes later, the cab driver was able to take us deep into the recesses of Powerplant Mall’s outskirts after I sputtered out, “Look, the line!! The line!!” (I think I screamed in the vernacular, though: “Ayun yun pila!!” or something like that). We were dropped off so close to the line, we had the tiniest and silliest inkling that the first twenty people were expecting some crippled, lazy prima donna VIP’s to step out of the cab.


The line at the entrance of the Rockwell Tent, about 9-ish in the morning

Wonderfully enough, Anne and I were able to make it to the end of the line, after being greeted on our way by a couple of familiar faces. The 30-something line had apparently grown into something like a hundred at least. Somehow, our visions were right. Thor, an officemate I mentioned earlier, was already there with his sister. His foresight was less awry than mine and Anne’s.

“I think we’ve completely made it to the first 200,” I informed Anne.

And when the volunteering marshals began barking notices and orders that they would be giving away numbers in a short while and that we must be as behaved as we can be, whoops and cheers were flung into the air. It was about a quarter to nine in the morning.

“It pays to be early,” Anne informed me back. And needlessly, I nodded in agreement.

People were frighteningly in high spirits, in a level that they obeyed the marshals with very little clamor. Suddenly the foremost part of the line began to scatter and people grinningly flaunted pieces of neon green paper with their respective numbers printed on them. There was instant camaraderie among those present. There were isolated cases of people clapping hands for strangers who had already gotten numbers. I eavesdropped a couple of times and figured that there were some who had camped out and were off to freshen up after they have received their number stubs. The term “unwashed masses” took meaning in more ways than one that morning.


The line after Anne and me

The sun began to glare and the heat grew more tangible and Anne and I were innocently observing our surroundings (wow…. Lookit the line behind us, we’d say) when all of a sudden a blast of cheers and screams of “Neil!!! Neil!!!” filled the air. Cameras shot up and the two odd-even number lines we painstakingly tried to maintain began to wobble and get all crooked.

“What’s happening?” I heard someone say. We were at that part of the line where we can barely decipher anything that took place at the Tent’s entrance.

“Didn’t you see THAT??? THAT was NEIL GAIMAN!!!!” replied someone else.

“(insert swear word)!!! Saan? SAAN????? (Where? WHERE?????)” squealed the first someone.

“Nandun na, nasa loob ng tent,” (There, inside the tent already) replied the other someone once again.

“(insert swear word again)!!!! Talaga??? (Really???)”

Anne and I gaped at the four winds. Yes, we totally missed that. The happy vibes everyone was passing around were very much at its peak already that by the time the whoops and cheers were heard, most of the poor clueless souls at the back of the line thought that it was only a small lapse of exhilaration at simply just being there and ready for one, precious opportunity of seeing and meeting a living legend in the flesh. Little did we know that that, indeed, had already been the case, albeit for a brief while.

Like bees, buzzes of news spread that Neil had arrived alone, and how weird that was, doesn’t he fear for his protection, but who cares that was SOOO cool, and so on and so forth. Then after a while the prowess of the grapevine leaked again and news spread that Neil will be leaving in a while and will be returning in time for the reading, and that he only visited that morning to judge artwork that entered the contest. Bustle was everywhere. And by the time Anne and I got our numbers, we instantly regretted being at the even-number line.

“Now I know why the even-number line moved quicker,” Anne muttered. “The numbers were given away faster.” She had #144 and I had #142. The odd-number line people were being handed out #105 above.

“Ah well,” I croaked. “At least we’re within our goal range!”

We skipped (well, at least in our minds, we did…) to Starbucks for a bit of morning refreshment while we joined Kuya Hector, the only TPTS member visibly present at that time.

Kuya Hector was still in a bit of a shock as he relayed his AGE (almost-Gaiman experience) of being a mere few feet away from the Dream King when he was ushered into the Tent by some volunteers. He admitted that his mind wasn’t able to register Neil’s profile, who, at that moment when most people were still blinking sleep from their eyes, seemed like a black blur.

“I thought he looked faaaaaaintly familiar,” Kuya Hec jestingly said.

There were a good number of people we recognized from the line that was in Starbucks already; more were pouring in. Obviously, everyone entertained the same idea, and now that the first ordeal was done, guards were down, and sighs of relief of having unwound cramped muscles and being sheltered from the now-high and mighty late morning sun were heard. The customer lines at the bar counter were nothing compared to the lines we encountered earlier that day. And even as we sipped our frappes and feasted on donuts with tender ease, the lines outside the tent assuredly continued to grow.

Pretty soon more familiar faces began to reveal themselves from the now-large crowd which had convened in Starbucks alone. Thor and his sister had already made plans to watch Fantastic Four to kill time, while Anne and Andy, her boyfriend, went off to scour and explore the mall to also kill time. “Text me when you’re gonna change into your costume,” she told me excitedly.

“I’m gonna have my Neverwhere DVD’s signed,” Kuya Hector proclaimed with contained joy. “And my Coraline.” He had a hardbound copy which Anne and I so wished to covet for the past few days. When he produced it from his bag of books, and before Anne got spirited away by Andy, we ogled it and poked at it and ran our fingers over the glossy book jacket, our eyes sparkling with imaginary tears of longing...

Francis and Ava from TPON had made it into Starbucks as well, joined by Altariel and her friends a short while later. Ecstatic hi’s and hello’s were exchanged before Kuya Hec and I decided to return to the Tent entrance and see if anyone we knew aside from Ricky, Meann and Tania had arrived. True to surmise, Tonette, Shine, and many others were already taking up marshal duty. I so envied their black shirts with the “Neil Gaiman in Manila” flyer ad design printed at the back, and a tiny crimson “Fully Booked” logo at the front, as much as I envied their marshal status. I have cast my offer as a volunteer too late. Oh well, I think that’s all right, I thought, especially after hearing a few tales of horror from them concerning manning the rowdy crowd and handling distraught individuals. That, however, will not stop me from volunteering if ever Neil comes to visit again. But that’s getting too ahead of the story.

Pink priority number slips were already being handed out by the time Kuya Hec and I approached our companions outside the Tent. I received a few puzzled queries of whether I would be going in costume or not, to which I kept replying with, “later,” giddy from excitement. I had already seen some girls gliding around in gothic attire.

Neil had already left, and the early birds among the volunteers had already their books signed and their pictures taken with him, because for certain, when the actual booksigning began, all the attention would be given to the crowd. Seeing little point of lingering, and having been reminded that 2:30PM would be the best time to start falling in line again before they opened the Tent’s doors, Kuya Hec, Ricky, Reitch and a friend of hers and I sped off to lunch.

My mobile phone ceaselessly spouted messages of “Where are you?” and “Are you at the Gaiman event?” and “Will there be any chance of me still getting a number?” as I settled down for lunch. My “lunch” comprised of a small portion of potatoes and an upsized drink; my heart pumped too much blood into my veins for the good of my belly.

More people from TPTS arrived at the lunch venue: Gabe, Ronald the journalist and the other Ronald, more popularly known as the Dark Lord Sauroni. Ronald the journalist gushed to an extent that he jumped up and down with unbridled delight. It was so infectious that I proceeded to join him. When we began to feel the hot stares of onlookers at our backs, we sweetly collected our bearings and began civilized conversation with the others. Well, almost civilized.

Gabe’s hands which acquired some sort of injury caught our attention that we jubilantly concluded that all she had to do was present her “handicapped” state so that the more lenient volunteers or even Neil Gaiman himself will let her through and have her books signed with not as much fuss as the more healthily intact fans. Unfortunately, Gabe had lost her “Books of Magic” and was there to willingly offer moral support.

It was well past noon when I deemed the time ripe to transform my mild-mannered self into the grim reaper. As agreed, Anne accompanied me to the 3rd floor loo—not as occupied as the washrooms downstairs. About an hour later, with more than half an hour frustratingly finding ways to get the ghastly white face paint to stay on skin and not on clothes, I was done. Anne helped and watched with interest, but she knew my geekiness and hopefully, perhaps, the extent of my sanity.


Wahahahaha... perky Little Death. In the loo, of all places.

I was cosplaying for fun, you know. I meant no disrespect to one of Gaiman-sama’s most beloved characters. In fact, I really didn’t look quite like Death. Or feel quite like Death. I was Little Death. Or, as some friends and I agreed, Near Death Experience.

But boy, was it awfully fun wearin’ those booties.

People who knew not the times watched me pass by. Some were not amused.

“Don’t you feel weird when people look at you?” Anne curiously asked.

I chuckled uncomfortably. “Well, it’s expected. All part of the package. ‘Sides, I’m not me; I’m my character!” I flashed a half-hearted smile. Little Death strikes.

1:00PM onwards was a blur. Firstly: to buy or not to buy MirrorMask? Gleaming shiny new hardbound copies of the illustrated screenplay were being displayed in Fully Booked. My brain was salivating. Secondly: I was almost broke. I decided to let it pass after weighing losses against the gains. Sigh. Thirdly, I discovered that my camera ran out of batteries. Anne had disappeared somewhere inside Fully Booked so Tatcee from TPTS kindly volunteered to accompany me in my Quest for Kodak. And then I ran into Kuya Rem and the other TPON people.

Finally, Tatcee and I reached Kodak, withstood more stares, got fresh batteries, got confused, got a bit lost and all other things, before returning to Starbucks with the other TPTS people. All in a matter of ten minutes—enough time to still gather belongings and calmly trudge back into the clump of people who randomly formed rapidly growing lines in front of Rockwell Tent. Seeing me in costume, as many people I know were accustomed to seeing me, acknowledged my transformation and started behaving themselves. They shot me big grins and twitched nervously when I loomed over them with the words, “Oh look; right on schedule.” Considering I was what I was as a character—not a very pretty scenario.

Nah, they were darlings just playing the game with me.

The weather was bad. After a small investigation, we realized that people were not exactly keen with why they were lining up. Since everyone was lining up, might as well do so. But then again, common sense would procure one reason: people were lining up to get into Rockwell Tent. Duh.

When the doors finally opened, it was a riot. Airconditioning!!!! Ack!!!!! Where hath thou been all this time??? And oh look, a stage! What was the stage for again? Right! Neil Gaiman is coming!!! Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

1.5 hours later...


The Late Isabel

If it weren’t for The Late Isabel—a goth band whose gothness, I heard from the emcee, was subject to debate—we poor middle-class audience would have been foaming in the mouth with all the waaaaaaaaaiting. We stood behind the tape that separated us from the VIP’s; I felt that many were hungrily eyeing the empty seats beyond the tape.

“That’s Philippine society in a microcosm,” Ronald the journalist sagely pointed out, gesturing matter-of-factly at the Hierarchal Tape. Many heads that overheard nodded. In the heat of boredom and aching legs, Marxist passions had begun to rise.


The stage.

It was an extremely pleasant surprise when Karen Kunawicz gave the TPTS a wondrous peek at the tarp she had especially made for this event. We fell into fits and seizures of unsullied happiness, gasping, wow-ing, and discreetly and quietly clapping our hands. Neil would definitely LOVE this. Fans of J.R.R. Tolkien were flocking to him!! Ah, truly a legend, Neil is.


Tatcee and the half-rolled tarp. Photo taken by Karen K.

The crowd was restless. It was way past schedule and still no sign of Neil. And then, an announcement was made and it was the first thing that seemed, that day, to burst with overwhelming clarity: “Ladies and gentlemen, NEIL GAIMAN IS HERE.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa

God it was fun and oops, Neil is a writer and not a rock star, hehehe, hehehe.

His voice was rich, like chocolate toffee. It had a playful ring to it and you knew, right at that moment, no matter how surreal it may seem, that that was Neil Gaiman talking on stage, apologizing for being late, relaying his adventures with Printer Hell, and ultimately making Dreams come true.


Neil onstage...sorry, my cam is far-sighted. @.@

The first few minutes trickled preciously with us fans listening to Neil like sweet little poppets, children gathering around a very very well-loved storyteller for a very very well-loved story. And when Neil took a moment to pause for breath:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!” (a.k.a. Wall of Sound.)

A sea of estrogen. Those were the words I’m borrowing from a friend (who actually meant that description for the crowd who goes to see Hale perform). And Neil was swimming in that deadly sea.

He was also, undoubtedly, swimming in an ocean of gadget-ed humanity: the Gaimanazzi. And yes, it’s a term I also borrowed from another friend. Everyone was nail-bitingly eager and just too simply elated with Neil’s presence; every move, every word, every breath he made just had to be documented. This. Was. Freaking. Neil. Gaiman. He’s talking to us, making us laugh, washing the exhaustion away. And man he sure does sound like Professor Snape. One hawt prof, this.

The trailer of MirrorMask became instantly the core of everyone’s attention. It was awesome, exciting, beautiful. I’m quite sure Neil realized our appreciation when we began raising our voices on high again when the trailer ended. Dave McKean’s touch in that trailer alone was so intoxicating that, for a wee moment, we floated in McKean high.

And then Neil proceeded to read excerpts from his upcoming novel, Anansi Boys. He even did the voices and the accents. It was simply great. I think my jaw began to tingle from too much smiling even before the reading was over. At the far reaches of my mind I knew that the line Anne and I encountered that morning will be the same line we’ll encounter when Anansi Boys will be launched in book stores.


Neil reads "Anansi Boys" from his 2-lb laptop

Neil, we discovered during the Q&A, was a very accommodating fellow. And a talkative one at that but do we mind? NOOOOO!!!! Neil can talk all day, we can hear his voice all day, listen to all anecdotes and stories asked and unasked and all the same, we’d be in bliss.

When the book-signing commenced and the first twenty numbers were called, people eased themselves into their skins again. We sat on the floor in groups and circles, and replenished ourselves with food and drink, awaiting our turn.

Soon after, however, we were comparing notes with questions like, “What number are you?” and “Have you read American Gods?” and “Are you attending tomorrow’s booksigning again? How about Monday’s?”

Mr. Gabe from Fully Booked really had the knack for emcee-ing events that needed long hours of waiting. He cracked jokes that really cracked (with a few sablay ones, but that’s easily forgiven). For example:

When raffling winners for the “Wolves in the Walls” posters: OH MY GAD YOU WON A POSTER!! SYET!!!!”

and (when everyone, regardless of number, was itching to get to Neil, and would offer any excuse to do so…)

“Para sa mga Capricorn at Taurus… maganda ang future niyo. Horoscope lang po. Horoscope lang.”

And…

“Sa ilang sandali… sa loob ng ilang minuto… magsisimula na po and Master Showman!!!!”

Things like that. :P

Less than a quarter-way the booksigning, MirrorMask became quite the sensation again. The trailer and clips were presented: the clip wherein Helena is transformed into a goth princess while mechanical dolls dressed her up to the song “Close to you” by The Carpenters (and unfortunately or fortunately, I suffered Last Song Syndrome, even to this very day); the clip that compared the blue-screen shots from the completed ones; and the clip wherein Valentine tears down a Wanted poster and folds it up into a dark paper rose. And then the interviews of Neil and Dave. And cheers from the crowd.


MirrorMask on screen (aaargh can't see a darn thing)

I must inquire Fully Booked one day about the music compilation they played that day. They were goth classics, I knew, but I got mixed up trying to place the songs and the artists. I knew, however, that Skinny Puppy and The Smiths were somewhere in that compilation. Whenever “How Soon Is Now?” played, people jokingly proclaimed that they had accidentally stumbled upon a Charmed convention.

“Numbers 140 to 170 (or something like that), you may join the line,” Mr. Gabe announced.

That was me. And Anne.

A breed of discipline hovered upon us: as soon as we fell in line, we inquired about each others’ numbers and when things were settled, arranged ourselves accordingly with very minimal supervision from the marshals. My camera was already ready an eon ago.

It was also strange, that when the time came when I was about two-people’s worth away from Neil, I felt no panic and my mind was clear. I had meant to ask Neil a question and it slid effortlessly from my mind to my tongue, despite the stuttering Neil would expect from tongue-tied fans (as stated in his own set booksigning guidelines).

I was dressed up as Death (erk! Little Death!), and I wanted to grab the opportunity to ask a cosplay-related question. And when my turn came, my smile was in high-beam; and in stark-white make-up I knew I looked hideous; I gave Neil a bow of respect and I half-expected him to blink in alarm.


Neil talks to me!!! (^____^)

I handed out my first book to him, the book I wanted dedicated to me, while I asked, “Does it weird you out when people dress up as your characters?”

He replied, “Oh no, no. Actually, I find it rather sweet! Especially if they do a good job… like you.”

Hay naku, mabola pala si Neil. (Trans: Oh boy, is Neil one good flatterer.)

But he did say it with an immediacy that paralleled sincerity that I helplessly believed him. I was suppressing my urge to gush then and there when he signed the second and third book. “We discuss your stuff in Literature Class,” I added falteringly.

There was, I felt, a twinkle in his eye. “And?” he asked.

That was when I held my breath and the gears in my head started going haywire. I wanted to say, “Got a fortnight, Neil? And I’d loooove to tell you aalll about it,” but the frowns my lingering was beginning to elicit from the faces of the marshals prompted me to control myself and leave poor Neil hanging without an answer. Nevertheless, he repeated that I’ve done a good job as Death and, finally reaching the peak of fan-girl gratitude, bent down to give him a hug.

And wow, did Neil hug back!!!!

It was an adorably firm and almost crushing hug. It was warm and (fellow fan-girls, don’t kill me) quite fatherly; in those tiny moments, I can say that I felt very sheltered in that hug. I wasn’t surprised when I heard whoops and cheers from the crowd. Every girl that asked a hug from Neil had gotten the same rapport, much to the dismay of a good number of fan-boys.

I have absolutely no idea how many thank you’s I’ve managed to say before I was handed my camera and shoo-ed down the stage. I had a couple of friends taking a break from marshal duty anticipating my decent. That was when I went cuckoo.

“HI-NUG NIYA AKO!!!” I banshee war-cried. (Trans. HE HUGGED ME!!!)

“Yihee!!!”

“Wow!!!!”

“Happy ka na?” (So, you happy?)

“ABA SIEMPRE!!!!!” (OF COURSE, #%^____^%@!!!!)

“Grabeh…” (An expression of utmost gravity)

“So, anong sabi niya?” (So, what did he say?)

I recounted my small conversation with Neil. I felt a-flutter and was not exactly myself for the next few minutes. I tried, with all my might, to look where I was going as I returned to my spot within the TPON circle.


Dream! Photo taken by Altariel

The Tent was still packed, more so since the rain had begun pounding outside when dusk struck and people had taken shelter. When my turn with the signing was done, I realized that the night was still young: 7:30-ish in the evening. And the 200th number was still far from being called.

When Anne was also done with her turn, she took her leave; it was then did it strike me that I was going to have to look for travel companions heading back South. Don’t take me wrong; I can travel alone if I can help it, but there was always safety in numbers. And it just so happened that the only companion I can muster—Ayene—was number #400-something. Poor Ayene’s brows furrowed with worry, and she smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you,” I said.

As the night wore on, while I placidly sat on a chair within Ayene’s group, I took the time to drink in my surroundings. Lovely goth-ish music still trailed from the speakers, picture stills of Sandman art flashed from projectors, and stage lights in ghostly blue patterns enveloped Neil in an ethereally radioactive glow. The fans kept on pouring: some watched, stunned, as Neil signed their books. Some struck tiny conversations with him as well. Some even did a bit of theatrics; I recalled the fuss made about news of a young man ardently falling down to his knees in reverence as he recited a Shakespearean-like speech in front of Neil.

Everybody’s got their own bit of courage.

I found it strange from the very beginning when I observed the fact that many fans had taken some opportunities for granted—and one of them was dressing up as one of Neil’s characters. Costumes bring out the thespian or the child in a person; I knew, somehow, that there had been a good number out there who wished that they arrived in costume. I remember seeing a potential Delirium and Desire, and more than once I encountered young men and ladies with ankh necklaces or earrings, but no fully costumed fans till the late hour—9PM, I think.



Those were two lads dressed as Dream, fellow regular cosplayers. I was so pleased. I ran the length of the Tent to catch up with them for a photo before they joined their assigned line. A few fans, seeing a bit of the Endless clumped together, began requesting the three of us to do some poses for them. If one would take a second to psychologize a cosplayer, moments like these were some of the better things in life… even when my rendition of Death was rather off. (Then again, Neil remarked otherwise… Bless you, dearest, kindest sir!!!!!!)

When 10PM struck, I was already more than in deep admiration for Neil. Though he had cut some deals with the fans—deals which can be done voluntarily—he just kept on signing and posing and talking. It felt as if he had already reached that stage of utter depletion when one would just stop whatever he/she was doing, stare into oblivion, and burst into tears. But not Neil. When 11PM arrived, I was already holding my breath.

Although I knew that the management checked Neil’s condition from time to time and inquired about his willingness to continue, I found myself glancing every now and then if Neil had a water bottle ready at his side. Under the Philippine sky, every living soul, including the Dream King, was prone to dehydration.

Before I forget, these were Neil’s deals:

-Limit flash photography (his eyes were beginning to hurt)
-If possible, though he knew very well that every book pass entitled one for a signed book, have two books instead of the initial four ready for him to sign. That way more people can be accommodated.


Neil signing onstage

It was almost midnight when Ayene triumphantly returned with her books signed. Gratitude glowed from here eyes. Every time a new batch of numbers were called to join the line, cheers and wild, happy screams filled the already near-empty Tent. We were in deep appreciation of Neil’s efforts. Neil, on the other hand, although seemingly bone-weary and in need of real refreshment, acknowledged the cheering crowd with a small smile and a wave of a hand.

It was exactly 1AM of July 10, 2005 when I finally arrived home. When Ayene, Shine, more friends and I left Rockwell Tent, Neil was still signing.

The morning after, when I took some time reading Neil’s blog, I discovered that the signing ended at 1:25AM. When I was already snug and snoozing at home, Neil had gone all the way to signing #700. The 700th fan, undoubtedly, should deserve some applause, too.

I agree with Ayene’s words when I informed her of the feat done to accomplish the signing of 700 people with over 700 books the day before: “Neil is SUCH as bloody nice bloke!”

MOST especially when you are gifted with words such as these:



Neil Gaiman has ordered me to immortalize. ;)

P.S. Must promise myself to get a digicam... in time for Neil's next visit!!! Mwahahaha!! These photos(aside from Altariel's) were taken by a cam phone with very poor resolution. *Sniff sob*