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A culmination of six months of promotion. A small collective of mini-comics creators break free from inadequate exhibition costs at major comics conventions and hold a festival of their own at Camden Market. Forty-eight cartoonists, no doors, no barcodes, no entrance price.

4:46pm I've wandered off, on my own in a happy space for a cigarette. Opposite the massage parlour, outside the robot fashion shop.. The sun is on but just at the right hitting. And I'm thinking to myself, this is fantastic.

Arrive at Oli's flat about 8:30 to no answer, quick phone call - he and Azz are down at the market with Jake Harold. Wee squabbles, Oli's been crankier than usual lately. Still, The Beach Boys used to get on like Mike Tyson. And they weren't quite as business fast as our Mr.Smith, lending me keys to pick up stock I didn't bring. Delighted to learn am on table with Jeremy Dennis, Karen Rubins and Peter Lally. By 9am I prove that I don't need to rely on such heavyweights. I'm admiring Dan Lester's 6x24hr comic volume when I get a call to my table. Someone I don't know wants to buy a comic that should really shift more than it does.

Matthew Badham and Leon Hewitt are around. Theyre two of the great comics journalists and promoters of the underground scene who, ahead of myself, have all but retired from the modern comics festival. We discuss my problems with Bugpowder, which myself and at lesser extent, Dan Fish, appear to be running by accident. Not quite what I'd planned - we've got some very sensible ideas for expansion, but I may need to write a blog post soon on the netiquette for contributions to Bugpowder. We're talking about student disabilities or perhaps human rights activism when Oli Smith arrives video camera in hand, and goes for a quite deliberate close up on Badham. Pouncing back, Badham roars a thundering fuck off that must have reached the adjacent rooms as does my laughter which follows. Precious moments.

If Alan Moore had bothered to show up (shaven), he'd have set the meetings of the day, the busyness to a fast paced Tim Perkins score, namedropping for all its worth. Paul Gravett did show, I looked around for a shirt and tie though there he is, camouflaged before me in Hawaiian. Badhams telling him about my 24hr comic, "Oh you have to read this." "Brilliant" "Oh I did", says Paul, "Very moving" he adds smiling, with a reverent joy on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Badham proceeds to talk up my Sheridan Cottage collection to him. Paul is sold right away, and turns down a comp copy for paying a good price for it. Very flattering to have the pinnacle of UK comics reporters purchase my 56-page volume so happily.

Back from the copyshop with some fair copies of Optimus and Me. I take them to the pub to cut, collate and staple while Mike Rouse-Deane and Jon Scrivens chow down. Jon is very quickly drunk, and for the rest of the day, rhyming my name loudly and other verbal slobberings at me. I appear to have done something at some point to prompt this lad to develop a fanboy crush on me. Hes safe though. Grave Graham Bettany, 1st rockstar king of comics appears at the pub, unsurprisingly. The first of many sessions between us were we discuss S.Clay Wilson, Robert Crumb and Si Spurrier's connection to Hong Kong Pussy.

Nothing here is in chronological order

...‘Do You Want to Kiss it Better' have produced a ‘green' comic which I'd talked to several different people from several angles about buying, not realising it were the same people...
...A tannoy announcement goes off, thanking London Underground Comics for organising such a brilliant day, which is quite fitting. Also strange, because on the ten or so occasions I've manned the LUC stall, I'd never heard a tannoy announcement there....
.. Sally Anne-Hickman is gorgeous, and her comics are also gorgeous. So I buy a few as you do, and have all manner of tactile adventures. I get to test these products out at the table, like some weird Vic and Bob sketch....
..Jeremy Dennis is sewing shinies onto owls on the front of her owl comic..
...Ralph Kidson is on the table next to mine. Apparently not seen in public since the 1900s by anyone other than Gavin Burrows. I'm happy to report he looked nothing like Howard Hughes. A very dear friend, and one of the funniest men of UK comics. He and Gavin discuss Daleks on team work go-getting weekends, their robotic outsourcing. "Mo-Tiv-Ate, Mo-Tiv-Ate, MO-TIV-ATE !
...Damian Cugley appears, like Mr. Benn's shopkeeper, or perhaps like Mr.Gravetts. I see him for only five minutes during the day but he appears to have a decent photoset up on flickr ...

... Cassandra Conroy, corseted organiser of the all-new Eagle Awards. I fear I managed to put he off by intoning I was going for a drink and she could join me, a bit too loudly, with Graham Bettany my my side. I'm hopeful she'll talk to me.
I worry I might not make beyond table costs with all these noobs on our turf. Taking up our regular customers space ! But I make back my tube and coach travel costs, and start to hit the territory of...um..."I think I just got paid."
And table rent is higher than usual.

The UK Comics Scene, In Collaboration with Wetherspoons brings you,

Peter Lally, surprise playa with attractive zinester lass. I'm party to at least two conversations about comix markets collectives being investigated in other parts of the UK. Near table eight, is with the Wellers, Ralph, and Gav offers us his thoughts on Camden's potency. Mike J. Weller follows treating us to a psychogeography of Greater London's small indy businesses, an inspired unannounced improvised reading which gave me fond memories of his performance of ‘Madeline' at Caption 2001. Also near table eight, I'm honoured again, in the presence of Ellen Lindner, her hubby Stephen Betts, and Jeremy Dennis. Jeremy and Ellen provide history lesson on various trends in social networking and the arts pre-internet. Stephen tells me about Comics Influx, a Wiki set up to enable proceeding translation of foreign comics by collective .

Rave music is rubbish in relation to two factors. Its proximity to conversation, and its volume level thereof. Wetherspoons in Camden haven't quite got the mix right, but they're new to dealing with London Underground Comics, so we give them time. Outside in the smokers lounge, Oli is surrounded by attractive women and slim lads. A man swims the canal. I meet the Alex Fitch, and eagerly encourage him to interview Mike Weller . They'd spoken earlier, so presumably if Alex can find a comics angle, it'll happen. (Mike has been working in poetry and non-illustrated fiction these last years, but is one of the true punk art grassroots small pressers still active from the 1960s. His experience shines through upon meeting him, but he could easily be mistaken for someone in their thirties)

As the night goes on the cartoonists appear to be harnessing the noise in a visual display of energy, like a six page Eddie Campbell spread. Gary Northfield mentioned I'd reported previously he was very drunk and that I should report that he most definitely not drunk at the No Barcodes party. Anna confirmed she were completely sloshed. I seem to remember a lot of mad dancing, AT some point past ten, Oli Smith recalls he has not eaten, which is intolerable. So he, Baillie, Merlin, Rouse-Deane, Mad Scrivens and I leave for a pizza place. At Olis we're joined by Lester, Badham and Hewitt for a screening of the days vidclips. The Home and Away themebites offend my sensibilities. I scowl at those smiling, and Mikey RD in particular. Seems everyone was too busy living the event to bother with an ambitious video presentation. Then, a lengthier file that no one remembers recording comes up. Its Sean Azzopardi, its true to form thematic, inspired, ambitious, incidental and ...well quite brilliant. The room is electric.

No Barcodes was the best comics festival ever. Expert historians were present and confirm this. Here are some photos what i took.

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