Orbital Con Report
Ceci n’est pas une con report
It's a strange feeling coming back to the Radisson. It's almost, but not quite,
entirely unlike a convention I attended some years ago on this very spot.
Even a lot of the people are the same.
I eat breakfast in a large atrium type thingy and enjoy it muchly, but the
nagging feeling that I'm sitting on the ghost of a jacuzzi or swimming pool
seems most peculiar.
My favourite place this time is, of course, the real ale bar. They have
something called 'Old Hookey' there, which seems to hit the spot most
effectively. It's Sunday now and as far as I know, we haven't drunk it dry just
yet.
We will do.
On Saturday we held an impromptu Beeblebears’ picnic in the real ale bar.
Dave Haddock is there, also Julie Faith Rigby-Macmurray together with Pat
Rigby-Macmurry (that spelling doesn't look right, myself (Jim Mowatt) and
Carrie Gillespie. The beeblebears are there sporting many limbs and many
heads. We drink beer. The bears neither drink nor eat. The beeblebear
protection society arrange for social workers to remove beeblebears from
such irresponsible owners.
We're too p*ssed to care.
Saturday night I'm still in the real ale bar. This time I'm sitting with Doug Bell,
Christina Lake and Lennart Uhlin. Doug is waxing lyrical on the delights of
Falmouth. It seems there's some place called Trego Park, which is truly a
place of wonder. Gosh! Falmouth seems a hotbed of excitement.
Then I find myself wondering about Doug’s judgement as he talks fondly of a
pencil museum in Keswick. There's a look of crushing disappointment on his
face when he tells us their prime exhibit had gone on loan to other places of
wonder elsewhere in the world.
Apparently it's a very large pencil...
Doug also mentions a possible visit to Moominland. Jim makes mental note
here to view every recommendation from Doug with extreme suspicion.
It's getting late in the evening now and the conversation becomes curiouser
and curiouser. The phrase 'ninja prostitute transvestite' occurs on several
occasions but I never quite get to grips with the significance of these cross
dressing, martial arts entrepreneurs.
Finally, that evening, I am assured that the modern age is really here. There's
a statue, it seems, that you can send a text to and it will immediately begin
to do a sprinkler type wee. Oh brave new world that has such technology in
it.
All good fun.
I've attended a couple of fannish panels this Eastercon. First one was
something to do with fannish awards. The panel consisted of: Chris Garcia
(American fan), Alison Scott (loud person), Mark Plummer (moderator
person), Greg Pickersgill (trouble causer person) There were some
interjections from members of the audience including James Bacon who was
vociferous and enthusiastic about something or other and Jim Mowatt (that's
me that is) who was passionate about something (no-one was quite sure
what). The panel positions were that Chris was too busy blogging to really
have an opinion. Alison liked awards and said more please, Greg didn't think
they were worth the papier mache they were made from (not actual words,
more a sort of summary) and Mark tried to get them all to play nice. Did
anyone win the debate - I suppose so. Fanzine fans seem to like awards if
only to argue about whether the right people got them or not.
The last fannish panel I attended was the live Taff trip report. Bug did leap
and cavort as she tried to convey the wonder that is the United States in
large expansive gestures. Some of these gestures were made from atop a
chair and others were not. Ian Sorensen thought there wasn't enough talk
about bridges. Austin Benson felt here wasn't enough talk about computers
and most of the females in the audience were quite adamant that
chocolate should feature more heavily, in word and glorious chocolatey
reality.
That's my con so far - as for now: back to the real ale bar.
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jimtrash) wrote,
