Halloween weekend.

A rather quiet patch recently has been happily broken by Halloween weekend in London. A very busy one, but all the more fun for it. It started with the new Bond on Friday morning (it's only real flaw if I'm honest - on one viewing - is the rather gaping hole where the plot should be), followed by a train to London infested by middle class bratlings, and then straight to the London School of Economics (of all places) to see Neil Gaiman do a reading and a signing.

It was an interesting event, made more interesting by the fact he seemed to be in a bit of a bad mood. He did a reading from The Graveyard Book - the complete chapter 5 happily which was where I had reached on the train - then answered some questions. The girl I sat next too was a little irritating mind, making sure she laughed extra hard at the joke or two aimed at readers of his blog. We all get it love, move on.

It was pleasant to see Gaiman himself, he's better looking than I expected (God, how fickle am I?), and had a delightful reading voice. Attributes immaterial to his actual profession of course, in particular when he writes so beautifully, but handy for promotional work. I finished The Graveyard Book on the train home last night and it's astonishing. I think I fell a little bit in love with Silas, and I’d imagine I’m not the only one. Afterwards I queued for the signing, and given the numbers present I should have expected a long wait. And it was a long wait, made more frustrating knowing a party was waiting for me. But I stayed, and by the time I finally reached him I was quite zoned out, I didn't really say anything (though I suppose by that point Gaiman must have preferred it that way, and I can't say I blame him) and the woman who offered to take our picture together on my camera couldn't use it. Still, I now have a version of Good Omens signed by both authors, and I immensely enjoyed the night.

It being Halloween I spent much of the rest of the weekend with friends, dressed as a Ghostbuster. Two parties happened, plenty of friends. There were some drunken disgraces, thankfully not me, none moreso than the weird Irish guy from next door who tried to pretend somebody had died in order the speak to one of the girls he liked.

Am back home now, and tonight’s planned early bedtime has been totally ruined by the return of a certain Richard Sharpe last night - which was startlingly good (I had been anticipating a mediocre show at best, given the general output of much of ITV’s current output). Sean Bean smouldered, ooh, it’s made me go all tingly.