I came back from my holiday intending to send e-mails to say hi to all the lovely people I met while I was away. It’s been almost a week, and I haven’t even sent one. Guilt, guilt. I’ll try and get around to sending them tonight. Honest.

Something I noticed on holiday: the difference between trains and planes. Yes, very funny. Haha. No – the difference in my thought processes when travelling on them.

See, I like being in transit. I’m not so fond of travelling (which is why I hadn’t been outside the UK in over half a decade until two weeks ago), but I like being in transit. Being between one place is for want of a better phrase, a magical experience for me. On the train, my brain runs nineteen to the dozen, and I find myself writing down ideas as fast as they occur to me. I’ve been known to spend 5 hours and more frantically scribbling down concepts, ideas, fragments and general thoughts. On a plane, on the other hand, my brain shuts down. I have to force myself to keep busy – reading, firming up old notes (try as I might, I can’t do anything new on a plane, only scratch at the edges of old ideas, and not always very successfully) but for the most part, I’m faintly zoned out.

God knows why this should be the case.

Clearly, the gods hate me. I re-join a mailing list that work has kept me away from for the last couple of months, because work seemed to have slacked off a bit. Then my workload goes and doubles, and I’m left running away from the list in order to stay on top of the job. About twenty minutes after I re-subscribed. That’s a special kind of embarrassing.

God, I’m shattered. A week in New Orleans, and one day of this con, and I’m more or less dead. This isn’t good. Three days of con to go, not enough money, not enough sleep, and plenty of bile ahead of me – god knows I could write a column right now and it would be solid hate. Now I’m off to watch a bunch of strangers eat food I don’t like. Wish me luck.

God, I hate getting ready to go on holiday. Last minute panics, wondering if I’ve forgotten anything, and general frantic effort. Still this time on Thursday, I’ll be somewhere over the USA.

This one I just want to talk about because it made me happy.

Topic #3: I’m cute.

Apparently. After all the other strangeness last night, amid the drunken revelry and general good craic, two strange women dragged me outside, in order to tell me that I was cute, and looked like a fun sort of person. Subtle, no? I’m not used to this sort of thing happening to me, I have to say.

Understand: I don’t like the way I look. “Cute” is about the last word I would use to describe myself. My little brother got all the “cute” genes in the family – I got the ones that make my brain run at along strange lines and at peculiar speeds, which seems like a pretty fair trade to me.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m probably not a good judge of how I look. And besides, what does it matter to me how I look? I’m not then one that has to look at me. The only impact it might have on me is my confidence. And if I’m not going to give a damn, what have a got to be self-concious about? Yeah, I don’t get folk lusting over me like happens to some of my friends. (Line of the night last night award goes to Joseph, who, when I asked him why he’d show Antony his sketchings and not me, replied “Because he’s cute, and you’re not.”) I don’t give a damn. Apparently, there are people out there that like the way I look. Maybe there aren’t many of them, and maybe they’re not the people I’d like them to be, but I’ll take my compliments where I can get them.

So, for today at least, I’m cute.

Topic #2: Compliments and self image.

This one’s just been on my mind, as anyone who reads this on a half-way regular basis will know. Why is it that pretty much without exception, none of my friends will believe it when I pay them a compliment? This really gets on my wick, this one does. I’m not a liar. I’m not mad. All joking aside, I’m not a freak or a muant. I’m not just saying these things to make them feel better, or because I want something. This is what I really think. And if I think it, I’m sure other people do, too.

Actually, that’s not entirely true: I do want something. I want to make my friends feel good about themselves. Which will, in turn, make me feel good about myself. So yes, I do want something. But I think I could be forgiven that ulterior motive, to be honest.

I appreciate that compliments often make people feel awkward or uncomfortable, which is why I don’t generally push it. And I know I can be just as bad, don’t get me wrong. But in the last week, no less than four people have basically said “It’s nice that you think that, but I’m not going to pay attention because XXXX”, or even just an outright “No, that’s not true.” I’m starting to wonder why if these people are willing to take me seriously in other ways and think my opinion might have some value on other matters, they cannot believe that I might not be right when I say something nice about them. And yeah, I write this knowing at at least two of them read this from time to time – you know fine well who you are, and you know fine well what I’ve said in the past, and still hold to be true. I’m sorry if you feel I’m not being honest with you, or whatever other reason you have for not listening to me today.

I just wish you bloody well would, now and again.