i'd never travelled in such style, and never will again.i'd been given a business class seat, a last minute surprise as i checked in at Heathrow, self-content over my ruthless packing skills, everything nicely under 20kg.
and the smug look on my face as i sat in my seat....i felt like i'd finally made it in this world. of course, such luxury brought about problems like whether it was OK to slip off my shoes, afraid i'd offend the psychiatric practitioner next to me, unsure of the exact etiquette in small quarters.
i was well chuffed to find they had The Dark Knight on the in-flight entertainment. that to me was the gorge point inside this bourgeois womb sky high. i didn't watch though as headphones pain me in the long run. well, i watched a bit.
flash forward two weeks and im watching The Dark Knight in my apartment. it's my 7th viewing. i'd just bought a DVD player and this was the baptismal. i'd made my new nest at last after coming home daily to nothing more than a few books and a cold floor out of a running battle with the heating system's Korean phonetics and baffling mechanics (now fixed, thanks Steve).
but let's flashback.
my Batman love can all be traced back to a London library. i was...7? younger? my dad had walked off and i was browsing the comics alone. i picked up a Batman comic, probably aware of the Burton films, maybe caught in glimpses, their toy-town screwball and undercurrents of subconscious lurks already present in my mind. perhaps. maybe that's why i felt at home with the darkness in the comic book i found - a bloody chainsaw-hockey mask maniac stalking Gotham, Batman on the case. just flicking through those pages with a curious unease set it all off. the blood, the Gotham derelict, the yellow chest symbol. that's when it was all sewn.
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