Jamie

Since other people seem like experts on Celtic myth generally, I'll pipe up that I'm good on pre-Galfridian (I mean pre- or maybe not influenced by Geoffrey of Monmouth) Welsh Arthurian, Mabionogion and beyond.

I'm Jamie. Insomniac bookworm. Age 21. Hi.

Claims to fame? Perennial odds-on favourite for the Lazy Londoner championship but couldn't be arsed to turn up on the day yet. This may help to explain why I'm a state sponging, part-time painting and decorating, two-time uni dropout, rather than a Vertigo-straddling superstar comics writer living Grant Morrison's wet dreams.

Other claims to fame? I'm (sincerely) convinced I saw John Constantine in West End Lane, of all places. He recognised me, too. It's no good reasoning with me about this. My theory is that I'm actually Jamie Delano and I've been implanted with false memories to neutralise my subversive influence on the US comics industry. No heh, no it isn't.

Hobbies? Reading novels. Handing out free cigarettes outside primary schools. Yeah, I'm where the little bastards are getting them all from. Slagging off Guy Ritchie (wanker). Quaffing implausible volumes of tea. Not submitting, or indeed writing, sample scripts for 2000AD. Digging myself deeper into debt on ebay. Eating pistachio nuts. On the crappy 80s stereo lately are David Byrne/Talking Heads, Nusrat Fathe Ali Kahn, Roy Orbison, Dylan obviously. Still ain't got into Miles Davis.

I much, much prefer reading comics in trade and continue to labour under the ever-more irrational and insupportable delusion that this will someday be possible with Carey's run.