I wasn't even dressed as Delirium at the time.
Sunday. Drinking home-made lemonade with loops of rind in it, the pith carefully scraped away so as to leave only zesty yellow ringlets. The peel is dotted with tiny white circles: pressed up against my glass, it looks like the coiled arm of an octopus. I say so. Am told I read too many graphic novels.
Well, yes. Possibly. But that is not something which manifests in cephalopod visions.
In all of this week, the point where I find I may have been addled by comic books is in my realising I am trying to make a friend’s spy-fuelled comedy play a little more Scott Pilgrim-ish, with my giddily determining that every time the gun-toting characters despatch another, they could gain a power-up or new weapon for their stash bag. (Can't be that much harder than getting a blood bag to spatter over a tennis poster in every show, surely? Or worse than having to buy a wipe-clean print of Anna Kournikova...)
Well, yes. Possibly. But that is not something which manifests in cephalopod visions.
In all of this week, the point where I find I may have been addled by comic books is in my realising I am trying to make a friend’s spy-fuelled comedy play a little more Scott Pilgrim-ish, with my giddily determining that every time the gun-toting characters despatch another, they could gain a power-up or new weapon for their stash bag. (Can't be that much harder than getting a blood bag to spatter over a tennis poster in every show, surely? Or worse than having to buy a wipe-clean print of Anna Kournikova...)