Following on from my last nail-biting blog: On each table I’d placed some of my own comics and a selection of ‘How to’ books; Eisner’s Comics & Sequential Art, How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way, How Not to Draw Comics the Marvel Way… the usual stuff.

So after a day of badly scrawled cartoons and barely humorous scripts (and that was just me!) the tiny artists left. As I beckoned them farewell, one child pleasingly enquired, “Is it okay to take these?” Indicating the comics on his table. “Of course, I drew those,” I chirped, as modestly as a man desperate for affirmation can manage.

But then, whilst tidying up I received a shock of shocks. A book was missing! My treasured copy of Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by the living caricature Scott McCloud.

Where was it?! I hear you cry (feigning interest). After an extensive (one minute) search it dawned on me that the young scallywag, previously mentioned, must have taken it! I’d thought he was pointing at my comics, but it was my precious book he’d actually had within his adolescent gaze.

I was so distraught I convened to the nearest tavern to drown my sorrows. Every bespectacled tweed-wearing gentleman entering the establishment, just added to my pain. The landlord told me later that he’d never sold so many Barcardi Breezers in one evening!

I still haven’t replaced the book. Partly as I resent paying twice for the same item, but mainly because purchasing a new copy feels like it would somehow invalidate the genuine sadness I felt at the time. Pretty dumb, eh? (No need to nod, it’s a rhetorical question.)

I can only hope that boy has grown up to become an exceptional comic creator, having studied Scott McCloud’s insightful words & pictures (and inspired by an enthusiastic workshop tutor). I can’t remember his name exactly, I think it was Chris something… Wear, or Were? I guess I’ll never know.

Many years ago I was running a comic workshop with some young cherubs in Hove Museum (which, by the way is really hard to find! It wasn’t where it should have been. I expected it to be in the bustling city centre, but it was actually located in a quiet residential area. By the time I found it, they’d started without me, and most of the kids had already mastered layout and composition and were well on their way to tackling a three quarter head looking up! Fortunately I arrived just in time to hinder their progress and unusual prowess – obviously I had to justify my fee somehow, so I stripped it all back (pun not intended) and demonstrated how NOT to hold a pencil… for two hours. It’s important to get the foundational skills right first, kids!).

Wow, that was a pretty long parenthesis section (which is easier to write than say out loud).

So there I was, about twenty kids on different tables with a collection of museum stationary between them. But on one desk a small child sat alone. It was quite sad, because apparently this boy was allergic to rubbers (ERASERS I mean! Apologies if you’re West of the Atlantic, that could’ve sounded weird. “Waddaya mean, buddy? It DID sound weird!”). Anyway, this isn’t about the allergic child, that’s a story for another time. Don’t worry, it’s got a happy ending! Well, not for Mr & Mrs Staedtler it hasn’t*.

Er… Sorry, I’ve kinda’ run over my self-imposed limit of 250/300 words, in a vain desire to give some colour to a fairly banal tale. Let’s pick this up next week. (Talk about a cliffhanger, eh, readers? – Ed)

Now I’m going to have to scroll aaall the way back up to the top of the page and type ‘Part 1’ or something.

*Staedtler is a brand of rubbers (ERASERS I mean!).