Glasgow Comic Art Convention, Part 2

digresssmlOriginally published April 24, 1992

And so, as more love letters are doubtlessly winging their way to CBG demanding my head, merely because I have the temerity to give Image the same consideration that I do Marvel and DC (notice that no one ever gets mad when I criticize the Big Guys), I blissfully return to the bonnie, bonnie banks (those are the twin sisters of Marvel sales honcho Lou Banks) of Scotland and my trip to the Glasgow Comic Art Convention:

Saturday, March 14–I wake up and feel mildly ill from the Indian food the previous night. I head downstairs to the breakfast buffet and look for something to ease my queasiness. Somehow blood pudding and stuff cooked in sheep’s intestines doesn’t look like it’s going to do it. I settle for eminently un-daring cornflakes and milk.

I then have to return the car to the rental car agency. By this point I’m maneuvering through the left-handed streets of Glasgow with utter confidence, and make the drive over in ten minutes flat (whereas the day before, when I’d been lost in the city, it had taken me nearly half an hour of tentative, fearful steering.

The woman at the car rental agency is relieved to see me…well, actually, she probably couldn’t give a dámņ about me. She’s just happy to see the car. She had been suspicious of me ever since the day before when she’d been filling out the rental form and asked, “Any convictions of traffic crimes,” and I replied with a deadpan, “Twenty-three arrests, no convictions.” They give me a lift back to the hotel and are probably relieved that I’ll be leaving the country shortly.

I get my stuff (photocopies of upcoming issues; plots to sell; the cover of Hulk #393) and head over to the convention site: City Hall. I head upstairs, check in at the desk and go to try and find a table where I can set up.

This is not awesomely difficult. There’s no one around. A handful of guests are in evidence, even though more than sixty are listed in the program book. There’s a few fans walking around.

I go over to the display room where various publishers are set up. I start chatting with a couple of fans, and before I know it I’ve got a somewhat impromptu autograph line. I sign things briskly and figure that this must be a good sign.

I then head over to the auditorium, where there is to be an opening ceremony. Each of the guests is to be brought out before the audience and introduced. I’ve been in gigs like this before, particularly at the Atlanta Fantasy Fair, where it’s a whole big thing and there’s a whole mob of people clapping and cheering.

We’re brought out, one by one, into the auditorium. I’m shuffled out and see that it’s not exactly Atlanta. There can’t be more than two dozen people in the audience. They look apathetic…actually, they look barely awake. Applause is polite. I’m asked to say a few words and I make a light comment or two.

Lead balloon. No reaction. I get the feeling that maybe if I disemboweled myself on stage with a butter knife it might get some perfunctory response, but that nothing less will do. I get off the stage as quickly as possible, feeling like a fool.

I do an interview with a publisher of Marvel Comics in Italy, and then head over to my table. There are, again, a handful of guests there: Myself, Peter Bagge, a couple of others. But nowhere near the proportion of people who are listed as attending.

I ask the convention organizers where in the world all the local and British guys are, and am told that they’re over by the bar that’s situated off of the display area. I’m told that that’s where they will, in all likelihood, spend the bulk of the convention. Unlike the San Diego Con with Artist’s Alley, or the Great Eastern Convention with rows upon rows of tables where the guests sign autographs for hours on end, apparently that’s not how it’s done here. I’m told that the locals use conventions primarily as chances to get together with their friends, chat, and spend the day in local pubs or bars, turning out only for when they’re supposed to be on panels.

This explains such program notes as the Sunday, 11:30 AM entry for the Mezzanine activity: “Steve Dillon, Peter Milligan and Will Simpson will be nursing their hangovers and signing your comics.”

I’m somewhat amazed since it’s not exactly what I’m used to. “Why do the fans stand for that?” I ask. “Because they don’t know any better,” he replies.

I’m also told that the convention will doubtlessly have a very light turnout due to the economic hardships they’re undergoing.

So I try and make myself as available as possible. I hang out at my table for several hours, signing autographs for the small number of fans who do come by. I notice two contrasts to American readers–First, a lot of American fans nowadays walk up to me with books to sign and then stand there in dead silence while I sign my name. The Glaswegian fans, on the other hand, are quite chatty, wanting to know what’s coming up and very interested in hearing my answers.

Secondly, American fans will come up to me with five, ten, twenty copies of the same issue. Clearly, to them, my signature is simply another step in trying to get maximum investment potential. With the Scots people, though, they’re simply giving me one copy of whatever they have of mine in their collection. My presumption is that they’re doing so to make it more valuable to them, which is a pleasant change of pace.

“The Chat Show” is at 4 PM–basically an informal grouping of guests with myself, Jamie Delano, Cam Kennedy, and Peter Milligan. As opposed to having a particular topic around which the panel is supposed to revolve, moderator Kev Sutherland works off well-prepared notes and asks us about a variety of topics. This is again as opposed to a number of conventions that I’ve been to where I’ve been thrown out on stage with the most brief of introductions, followed by an hour or so of being on my own.

In instances like those, I will generally talk for about ten, fifteen minutes, and then throw it open to questions. Fortunately enough I don’t have to do that here, because at one point Kev invites the audience to ask questions and there is dead silence. I figure the difference between American and Scots audiences can be attributed to one of two possibilities: Either Scotsmen already know everything they want to know, or else they’re simply more reserved than Americans who aren’t the least nervous about the thought of waving their hands and shouting, “When the hëll kind of name is `Strong Guy?!'”

I hang out for the UK Comic Art Awards. Having gone to innumerable awards ceremonies where I didn’t win anything in America, I figure I have the opportunity now to become a loser on an international scale. I’m not disappointed as I come up dry. Then again, since I’d never heard of the awards before today, I don’t have all that much of an emotional investment. Still, Dave Bishop and the guys from 2000 A.D. bring home several awards and look happy about it. Good for them.

The convention winds down and there still haven’t been all that many people. I’m a bit disappointed, not to mention apprehensive–Sundays are usually slower dates at conventions than Saturdays, and the thought of an even smaller turnout is a depressing one.

Finding eateries without long waits on Glasgow on Saturday nights can be difficult. A group of us turn up an Italian place, where the food is good and we’re serenaded by a guy who sings Italian folksongs but has a Scots brogue. After the dinner I hang out in the pub for a short while, but this time make an effort to call it an earlier night since I want to get some work done on the typewriter I rented for the weekend.

Sunday, March 15–Cornflakes again.

To my surprise, the convention is actually better attended today than it was yesterday. Still not exactly a mob scene by any standards, but it still seems a decent turnout.

By now I’ve noticed what appears to be the official uniform of the Brit creators, and also a lot of the Glaswegian women–they all dress like they stepped out of Sandman. Black. Black on black. Black shirts, black pants–and for the women, long black tunics over black leggings. Black jackets. Black glasses. Black everywhere. They don’t wear this much black in the Black Hole of Calcutta.

I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps it’s some sort of racial memory back to the days of the Blitzkrieg–maybe they’re concerned that there’s going to be a Gerry raid, and by wearing black they’ll blend into hiding that much more easily. I dunno.

I have an appearance at 1 PM where Frank Plowright asks me all sorts of informed questions about my work, much as Kev had the previous day. This time, shock of shocks, we actually get questions from the audience. Buoyed by the notion that I actually, finally seem to be connecting with a Glasgow Comic Art audience, I pull out some of my sure-fire anecdotes about my time in the comics industry and actually get, for the first time at the convention, some genuine laughs. It is, to my mind, the most successful appearance I’ve put in at the con.

I sign as many autographs as people want, but by 3 PM it’s becoming quite clear to me that I’m done. No one’s coming over anymore, no one else is coming into the convention. Without anything really more to do, I head over to the Kelvingrove Art Museum.

The Kelvingrove is a beautiful structure, with a vast array of all sorts of works inside. My main interest is the armor exhibit, but there are many other lovely pieces as well. Also, an organist is performing on an instrument that looks a couple of stories tall. The music, combined with the elegance of the environment, makes it one of the more pleasant museum-going experiences I’ve had.

I head back to the convention, only to arrive and find things are already finishing up. Even though there’s still a programming activity going, the dealers are by and large packed up and gone. I go down to watch the programming, which is an audience participation/trivia quiz. It’s easily the most fun I’ve seen attendees having since I got here. I can’t help but feel that things are finally starting to get rolling with the fans. Unfortunately, the convention is over. I’m disappointed that it is. My mood is black. But my clothes aren’t, so no one thinks I’m British.

I head back to the hotel. A group of us decide to go out for a simple dinner. Where do we wind up? Pizza Hut. Now there’s a nice, uniquely Scottish place. What a comedown from my initial brave forays into local cuisine. The pizza at a Pizza Hut in the United Kingdom tastes exactly the same as it does in the United States. Making it great.

We discuss the annoying fact that “Beauty and the Beast” hasn’t opened in the U.K. yet. My supposition is that it’s going to be timed to coincide with the opening of EuroDisney. EuroDisney. Now that’s going to be a kick. Imagine–an entire amusement park filled with French employees trying not to be arrogant to American tourists wearing mouse ears. Talk about your fantasylands.

I wonder if Jerry Lewis will be at the opening ceremonies?

Ah well.

I go upstairs and pack. Then I read all four issues of a delightful comic series called “The Bogie Man.” Produced by John Wagner, Alan Grant and Robin Smith, and published by John McShane and George Jackson under the label of “Fatman Press,” “Bogie Man” is an utterly marvelous and evocative series about an escaped nut who looks and talks like Humphrey Bogart in “Sam Spade” mode, wandering loose around Glasgow and turning the city into his own film noir. If you can find it, I highly recommend it.

I turn in early. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

Monday, March 16–Letterer Roxanne Starr, an acquaintance from previous conventions, has agreed to accompany me for my whirlwind tour of Edinburgh. There’s still plenty of stuff to see in Glasgow, but so many people have told me that I must see Edinburgh–which is only a 45 minute ride east on the train.

My time is limited. I have to be back in Glasgow by 1:30 at the latest so that I’m assured of making my plane. We make a beeline for the famous and notorious Castle (notorious because everyone in Glasgow says pretty much the same thing: “Why bother with E’dnbur? It’s got a castle. That’s all. That’s it. It’s a castle. So what? Stay in Glasgow!”)

Nevertheless, the Edinburgh Castle is dámņëd impressive, not only in its own construction, but for the view it gives of Edinburgh, which is a truly lovely city. After the castle, Roxanne insists that we go to St. Giles Church, which I must admit doesn’t hold all that much interest for your humble Jew. But she says that we must, absolutely must, go there because of a small chamber called the Chapel of the Order of the Thistle.

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. It’s even worth the fact that we had to go back several times in order to find a church caretaker, called a beadle, to let us into the locked Chapel.

It’s a very small room, used only once a year at Thanksgiving. The Order of the Thistle goes back several centuries, although the Chapel was only added in 1911. There are only 14 seats in the Chapel, lining the walls. Each of the seats have a variety of plaques with family crests mounted on the walls, giving a capsule history of the lineage of each seat. One seat, though, that’s dead center, has only one plaque. I ask why that is, and the beadle says with genuine reverence, “That’s where Her Royal Highness sits.”

Now I must admit, I’m not much of an Anglophile. Nor do I care overmuch about what the royals are up to at any given moment. I don’t care what Di thinks of Charles, I don’t care if Fergie’s breaking up with Andrew. It just doesn’t matter to me.

All that notwithstanding, it nevertheless gives me a really amazing feeling to be standing less than a yard away from a row of seats where, in accordance with centuries old tradition, the Queen of England and the Royal family come every year to worship. I’ve never been anyplace quite like this small, history-laden chapel.

After the church, I do some last-minute souvenir shopping. I finally find something made from Shetland lace, which I had been on the lookout for. I also pick up an album by an Irish group called Clannad, who provided the haunting and unique music for the British “Robin Hood” television series that starred Michael Praed (and, later on, Jason Connery. Yes, his son.)

Shortly thereafter, we head back to Glasgow. From there I catch a cab to the airport, hoping that my flight isn’t delayed the way that it was coming over. I really have no desire to miss my connecting flight home. This time, however, everything moves like clockwork and the plane actually gets back home early.

I had been planning to take a cab, but my wife, Myra, mysteriously insisted that she was going to pick me up. I didn’t understand why since I was getting in late, it meant dragging all the kids around until all hours, and it was going to be a long drive home at night from the airport. I breeze through customs–they were making everyone else open their suitcase, but me they just waved through. I guess I have the sort of face people just don’t want to stare at any longer than necessary.

I emerge through the gate, looking for my wife and kids. I don’t see them. The place is mobbed. And then a guy calls out, “Mr. David.” I turn and see a total stranger standing there, and he’s holding a copy of Hulk. And he says, “Come with me if you want to live.”

Now this line has significance to me: It’s the sure-fire pick-up line from the “Terminator” films, and my wife and I quote it back and forth to each other every so often. A bit puzzled, I ignore what my mommy always warned me about and went with this total stranger…who leads me outside to a less crowded waiting area where Myra and the kids are standing.

It turns out that my wife has actually gone and rented a stretch limo (bar, TV, the works) and chauffeur. We ride home in comfort and ease, and I ponder my wife’s ability to display such style…and she’s not even dressed all in black.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, is a bit amused by the current embargo by the New York Mets, who have banded together and decided that they’re not going to talk to the press anymore because they don’t like the papers are reporting the current accusations against the team’s conduct. I can’t help but think that if the Mets, instead, banded together and decided not to talk to female fans while on the road–or even better, bring their wives along–that might go a lot farther towards addressing the real problem here.)

9 comments on “Glasgow Comic Art Convention, Part 2

  1. Dear Mr. Peter David,
    My name is Raúl Martin, I have a website called De Vertigo (devertigo-zan.blogspot.com) dedicated to the comic world. I also write on ZONA NEGATIVA (www.zonanegativa.com) a famous spanish comic website. I send this comment because I highly appreciate if you could colaborate in an article that I’m preparing.
    Last year I had the idea of asking to different people related with the comic about the winners of the Eisner Awards. The article has a great succes and many people encouraged me to make something similar this year.

    So once again, I’m trying the same kind of article with new “guest stars”. I have thought in you because I’m a long time great fan of your work in the series as HULK, X-FACTOR or the newest THE DARK TOWER, and I would be very proud if you could participate in my article. By now, I count with spanish people and the spanish author Victor Santos (who is actually working for Vertigo), too.
    In case you wish participate, I kindly explain a bit what I need. The idea is you tell who in your oppinion is going to win the Eisner Award in the different categories. Of course you could write the nominations you wish, is not necesary you write regarding all.

    And that’s all. Excuse me for my english. I would like to thank your time and your attention and only tell you that I honestly will ve very grateful if you finally decide to participate in my proyect.

    Yours Sincerely,
    -Raúl Martin
    (Barcelona, Spain).

    1. I’m sorry, Raul, but being a self-obsessed ego-maniac, my interest in the Eisners begins and ends with whether my name is on the ballot. If it’s not, I honestly don’t care about the outcome.
      .
      PAD

  2. I have now fixed and updated the “But I Digress” index on this site. It’s under the Bibliography tab at the top of this page. The But I Digress Category link on the sidebar links to all the columns posted online, whereas the link at top is the full list of all BID columns categorized by subject, also with links to all online columns.

    Corey

  3. Given your tabletop gaming experience, Peter, I’d have thought you’d be excited about visiting the Chapel of the Order of the Thistle.

  4. Forgive me, Mr. PAD—I *must* know. Was the Police Call box the one in your author photo in Imzadi?
    If so, it has some signifiance to me, since it got me interested in your books. My younger self took one look at the photo and knew you were a fellow Whovian!

    1. The sad thing is that the “Police Public Call Box” on Buchanan Street in Glasgow has now been converted into a coffee booth . . .

  5. Aw, fantastic travel tale. I went to the 1994 convention, but your story and your experiences make me feel like I was there. Speaking as a Glaswegian, I loved it and wish the convention still existed. Maybe one day. For the record, I would have got you to sign X-factor 71 if I had been there. Man, I loved that comic (still do!)

Comments are closed.