I Am What I Am John Barrowman (books that read to you txt) 📖

the world of a particular television show or movie, and others imagined by the fan him or herself,4 from planets even the Doctor has never visited.

Whenever I took a break from the booth, I needed an escort in order to make my way through the throngs to get to the bathroom. The same applied when I did a little retail therapy at the collector booths, where I bought a few figures for my ever-evolving collections: a ‘Captain Jack Sparrow’ doll that was brilliant in its execution, and a Superman figure that was equally remarkable. At the T-shirt stalls, I bought up all my favourite vintage Ts, from Spider-Man to Aquaman to the Green Hornet. On these buying trips, I had to have a posse with me because this crowd knew their Captain Jack from their Captain America.

I enjoyed and appreciated everything about Comic-Con, including the intensity and the imagination of the fans. So did Carole, who disappeared for a long time one afternoon. Just as I was thinking that I might need to send a security detail to find her – she was meant to be signing Anything Goes part of the time with me – she came dashing back to the booth, as excited as a twelve-year-old, clutching a bag full of Emily the Strange paraphernalia. Emily the Strange is a comic character I introduced her to many years ago, because Carole – middle name Emily – is Emily the Strange.5 She had also waited in line to have her photo taken standing in front of a full-scale model of a ‘stargate’ from Stargate Atlantis. She’s almost as geeky as I am.6

Scott, on the other hand … hmm, not loving the whole Comic-Con vibe nearly as much. After he and Clare walked the entire circuit of the main floor of the convention centre and made it back to the booth safely, they both looked more than a bit stunned. Scott had the look he sometimes has when I’m about five minutes into telling him something that involves a chore he really doesn’t want to do. He looked as if his brain had completely shut down. I had to send him out into the streets of San Diego with a map of the museums and historic sites just so he could get back his equilibrium.

Clare, meanwhile, recovered more quickly, especially after she managed to work in a little shoe shopping. My parents – the troupers that they are7 – sat behind me in the booth all day and took everything in their stride, loving the craziness and the exuberant theatre of it all. In fact, my dad even did a spot of modelling. Mary Lee was selling T-shirts with my name and image on them, and my dad happily volunteered to wear samples of them. Of course, it helped everyone’s energy level that Mary Lee had a steady stream of chocolate and sweets in supply for all of us, including Gareth.

After a long, exciting day, Team Barrowman finally piled into the large limo. I gave the driver our hotel information, but as we began to pull out into the road that ran behind the convention centre, I looked to my left and saw someone who, in a flash, flooded my head with television memories from my high-school years.

‘Stop the car!’ I yelled, leaping out of the door without closing it – and leaving everyone inside convinced that this time I’d really lost the few marbles I had left. I darted between the limousines loading and unloading other celebrities for events later in the evening, and I charged across the street towards the vision from my past.

‘Where the hell are you going?’ someone inside the car yelled.

‘It’s the Bionic Woman!’

To understand the full impact of this encounter, I have to explain here that once I’d been safely ensconced in my private car with Team Barrowman, my security guards had immediately moved over to the loading dock and gathered around the very person I was now charging excitedly towards. This meant that the security detail knew I was not a threat, but poor Lindsay Wagner had no clue.

She looked up and spotted this man charging through traffic, yelling, ‘I’m a huge fan! Hello! Lindsay!’ and, naturally, she turned to her security detail for some help – but they were all acting completely nonchalantly and ignoring this clearly demented man in a Captain America T-shirt who was about to pounce on her. By the time I got to Lindsay Wagner, the poor woman was attempting to move behind one of the security guys and she was looking more than a bit terrified.

Did I care? Are you kidding? Well, maybe a little. But come on, it was the Bionic Woman. Alongside Space 1999 and Thunderbirds, The Bionic Woman was one of my three favourite sci-fi shows in my youth.

When I reached her, she was finally figuring out that while this fan might be a nutcase, he wasn’t a threat. I introduced myself. I’ve no idea what I said to her after that; I’m sure I sounded completely incoherent.

Then I strolled back across the street to the waiting limo.

‘It was the Bionic Woman!’ I exclaimed.

‘That’s a first,’ Scott said.

‘What do you mean?

‘I don’t think you’ve ever cut through traffic that fast for a woman in all the years I’ve known you.’8

When I was at university, I lived in a condo that my parents owned in La Jolla, a city close to San Diego. In recent years, when I’ve returned to the area, the district known as the Gaslight has been completely reborn. It’s now full of good restaurants, clubs, saloons, ice-cream parlours and lots of shops – yet in a style that’s preserved the area’s nineteenth-century traditions, including the gas lamps (thus its name). Getting around is done mostly on foot or by hiring a young man or woman in a bicycle rickshaw to use pedal power to get from A to B. Vehicle traffic is heavy, and pretty slow moving because of lots