As I sit here, at the Bounty pub, the sun warming my aching back and illuminating my beer like a shit lava lamp, I am content for the first time since I came back from my inhuman adventure in Poland.
It isn’t just because I am wearing my favourite (and only) tailor-made, black silk shirt. It isn’t even really because I am listening to Turisas and day-dreaming of adventure. It also isn’t even that I am hoping to drive across Europe and attend a metal festival on a Slovenian beach.
It is because finally, amongst the bizarre things I use to fill my life, I have found something that carries meaning to me. It is because, on Saturday night, for a fleeting few minutes, I brought back to life a character that had been too long dead. I re-introduced the world to Murorga Sim Bowa.
Granted, the world was actually a couple of hundred people who didn’t quite know what to make of the crazy man in the cape. But even so, taking up the role again
Now, knowing that it will happen again and be better every time is filling my soul with joy. And I’m not a man prone to speaking about either souls or joy…