Continuum 4 – August 2006

Friday 4th

It’s been a hellish week at work, one of the all-time worst, and having to come in and manage the store for a half-day on what is supposed to be the first day of ‘Con Leave’ is really just the arsenic-laced icing on the glass-filled cake. Someone’s got to do it, I suppose, but Mel Brooks should be bitch-slapped for suggesting that ‘It’s good to be the King’. At 12.30 pm I rush home, shower, shave and sh…get dressed (yes, I work nude), then walk to the station and catch a train into town.

I arrive at the Victoria Hotel in Little Collins Street (nice venue, very clean, no buskers) at 3.45 pm, expecting the rego desk (which opened at 1.00 pm) to be packed. To my surprise, it’s like a town in a Western movie just before the big gunfight. Avoiding the tumbleweeds (or maybe they’re just hairy Gamers), I register, then go in search of familiar faces. Following the loudest noise in the foyer, I find Cat Sparks lurking in the corner. It’s great to see her, and I instantly begin to pine for Sydney. I’d been hoping to see a few more of the Sydney entourage here, but Rob Hood isn’t coming due to a nasty case of No Money, Deb Biancotti is extremely ill, and Bill Congreve (who’ll be crashing at my place for the duration of the ‘con) doesn’t appear to have arrived yet.

Cat and I have hardly begun to chat, when I’m crash-tackled by an enormous cleavage. As far as Ways To Die go, it’s up there with being smothered by Angelina Jolie’s lips. The cleavage is attached to Sarah Parker, whom I last saw at Fandomedia in Perth last year, and whom I dazzled at that time with my dashing good looks. Yes, she wears glasses: what are you suggesting? Apparently there are quite a number of Sandgropers here for the ‘con – Perky and Tori, Sarah and her hubby John, David Cake, Simon Oxwell, and others, and it’s great to see them. For me, the ‘con has already developed a rather cozy atmosphere, and we haven’t even hit the bar yet! One slightly unsettling aspect of meeting up with all these folks is that every second person seems to feel the need to re-introduce themselves, as if I’d forgotten who they are – which makes me wonder whether I have some sort of reputation for forgetting faces! If so, I’ve forgotten ever doing it. What were we talking about..?

By the time we do hit the bar at 4.00 pm, I’ve bumped into few other familiar folk, including Bruce Gillespie (Fan GoH, whom I’ve often seen at conventions, but never actually introduced myself to before), ‘Magic’ Trevor Stafford (the most beautiful man in Oz Fandom), Lucy Sussex, Gillian Pollack, Danny Oz, Eric Lindsay, Grace Dugan, Chris Lawson, Jamie Reuel (‘con programmer extraordinaire), and Mark Smith, whom I met at a screening of ‘When Evil Reigns’ earlier in the year. This is Mark’s first-ever ‘con, so I pledge to look after him and introduce him to as many new friends as possible over the next couple of days – just as the NSW contingent did for me all those years ago at Swancon 26. Ahhh, memories – well, what memories are left after my epic binge session at that ‘con (memo to self: I still owe Deb Biancotti a super-deluxe-sized bottle of gin). It strikes me that I tend to drink much less at conventions these days, which is far better for the pavement, if rather less entertaining for my friends. Perky, Mark, Sarah and I indulge in a round of beers, surrounded by the cozy art-deco surroundings of the hotel bar. With an exclamation of ‘Ah, this looks like One Of Us!’ (Ie – a geek), Perky waves to someone behind me. That someone, who comes over to join us, turns out to be Charles Stross: a friendly, solid, heavily bewhiskered man with a shaved bonce and an amiable smile, who – as it turns out – knows more about any given topic than God Herself. His BBC Newsreader’s accent is a surprise: having read that he lived in Scotland, I’d expected a ‘Hoots Mon! Stitch that Jimmy! It’s a brae, braw, moonlicht nicht tonicht, ye cock-eyed wazzock!’- type delivery. We spend a pleasant half-hour drinking and chatting before Perky and I steal away to watch a Doctor Who panel.

4.45 pm: Bill Congreve has arrived, and has his wares displayed in the foyer. You know what I mean. He’s intending to head off early-ish (probably about 9.00 pm) as he has to be back here about 8.00 am to set up again. I’ll need to go with him, as he doesn’t know where I live, and I need the lift anyway, but I’m a bit disappointed as there’s lots of good late-night stuff on offer – The Great Debate, panels on taboo subjects for writers and gore vs. tension in horror movies, plus other horror-related fare. An early night is probably for the best, though, as I’m knackered already, and will be having a late night Saturday DJing the Masquerade.

5.00 pm: Time for ‘Doctor Who and the Amazing Fan Girls and Fan Boys’ in the Swanston Room. Isn’t it an amazing coincidence that the Victoria Hotel – a hotel which is actually in Victoria! – situated just off Swanston Street, has a room called the Swanston Room? As if that wasn’t weird enough, they have a Collins Room as well! Charles Fort, where are you?

A quick aside regarding two interesting features of the panel programme. Firstly, John Weeks from the 3MDR radio program ‘Spectrum’ is here, recording various panels. It’s great to see John again, as he was one of those lovely people who helped to launch me as a writer back at the turn of the century by providing unsolicited support and valuable exposure. Secondly, I notice that all panels have a rating (G, PG, MA, etc). How this is going to be regulated – especially given some of the nefarious types involved on various panels - is unclear, but I suspect that may prove to be a source of entertainment in itself.

Anyhoo, the Doctor Who panel (PGR) is run by Continuum 4 co-chair Ian Mond (also PGR), Danny Oz (NRC), Sarah Eggen (G) and Natahl Ball (RESPECT). Despite Mondy’s less-than-inspiring intro of ‘Welcome to whatever this panel is called’, the audience is treated to a rather informative analysis of the show from the points of view of old, new, and very new fans of ‘Who. I end up learning some exceedingly useful snippets of information, including:

· That ‘Squee!’ is a valid fannish word, indicating that one is highly excited by pop culture (Natahl).

· That there are too many morons in all types of fandom (Mondy).

· That the Internet has much to do with the proliferation of morons, as it allows one in the grip of fannish fervour to ‘strike while the iron’s hot’ (Danny).

· That ‘True Pairing’ refers to the fannish idea of exactly which characters in a genre series should be shacking up.

Immediately after, at 6.00 pm, I’m involved with a panel entitled ‘Are Weblogs the New Fanzines?’ (PGR), which is a laugh, as I know exactly FA about either fanzines or weblogs. Apparently I’ve qualified to sit on this panel as I have a very 20^th-Century style website that I update with authorial stuff on a semi-regular basis, and someone has recognised that my lack of knowledge regarding any given topic has never before prevented me from mouthing off. Fortunately, fellow panelists Sarah Eggen and Janice Gelb have vast experience in this area, so Margo Lanagan (apparently a fellow technocretin) and I keep shtum and let the others do the talking.

Of Margo Lanagan, I must say this: as well as being an extremely talented writer, she is also possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, with a smile that lights up the room (although that old cliché simply doesn’t do her smile justice, and nor do photos). Throughout the rest of the ’con, for the first time since I was sixteen, I find myself thinking ‘If only I were ten years older…’

But enough about my sad, sad midlife daydreaming…

At 7.00 pm I head out to find dinner, ending up at the Golden Tower Café on Swanston, which has been here since I was a child, as has – apparently – most of the food in the bain-marie. Astounding, given the never-ending change of the city around it, that a greasy little diner could survive here. A couple of more recently-cooked dim-sims tide me over nicely as I head back to the ‘con.

Kyla Ward and David Carroll (who have recently had their novel Prismatic pseudonymously published through Lothian) have arrived, and we take the opportunity to catch up before the Opening Ceremony. Mark Smith arrives back from dinner, together with another first-time ‘con attendee named Ben. Mark is looking a little dazed, and asks me what he should be expecting from this convention. I spend a few minutes frightening the bejesus out of both Mark and Ben with tales of nymphomaniacal Amazonian ‘Trek fans, then we file into the Swanston Room for the Opening Ceremony.

The OC has been given a thirty-minute window. Mitch (co-chair, and Jekyll to Mondy’s Hyde), manages to knock it over in seven. Seven minutes! To be fair, two of the guests are absent – Shaun Tan is off in search of food, and Margo Lanagan (as she later admits) is in her room desperately putting together her arguments for The Great Debate. But still, seven minutes! This does, however, leave more time for the serious business of launching books, which occurs straight afterwards in the foyer: a brand new Eidolon anthology, and Grace Dugan’s The Silver Road. Stross launches the former, Margo the latter. Both books look fantastic, but – mindful of limited funds, and the fact that there are two more days to go – I end up buying only a copy of Eidolon. Mark sets a trend by asking Shaun Tan to sign the front cover of his copy, just below Shaun’s magnificent cover-art, rather than the traditional inner pages. Almost all ‘con attendees seem to have turned up for the launch, which is extremely encouraging. I take the opportunity to catch up with Claire McKenna, Rjurick Davidson, Sarah Endacott, Paul Haines, Steven Gleeson, and other writers more talented than myself. Steven is currently acting in Claire’s half-finished movie, The Liminal, which is being shot on a shoestring budget in Melbourne. Claire says she’s confident the project won’t go over budget as long as she doesn’t eat for a few months, but I think she’s just trying to shame me out of asking for free tickets to the premiere screening. Foolish woman – does she not realize I have no shame?

Before I know it, it’s 9.00 pm, and Bill is looking ready to leave (looking pointedly at one’s watch and saying “Well! Willya look at the time!” over and over again is a hint that even I can catch). Saying our goodbyes, we head off to his Car. Yes, Bill’s Car deserves capitals: this Car has taken Bill from Sydney to Perth via the Nullabor – braving desert, UFOs and ghosts - numerous times for the annual Swancon convention. It has taken him to Melbourne. It has even taken him to Wollongong. This Car deserves accolades, or at least a decent trade-in figure. We set off for home, with Bill displaying a knowledge of Melbourne roads that puts my own to shame. Arrive home at 10.00 pm to a nice hot wife and a welcoming cup of tea.

Saturday 5th

Awaken at 7.00 am, as Bill creeps out of the house with the stealth and silence of a flatulent walrus. I doze awhile, then slouch up at 8.00 am and head off, pausing only to grab my CD collection and the ugliest Hawaiian shirt in my extensive collection of ugly Hawaiian shirts. ‘Tis Masquerade tonight, and I wish to look pretty for The Ball.

Arrive at 10.30 am. Bill and Justin are already pushing books to a crowd of lit addicts. Not wishing to be left with any of that unsightly ‘money’ stuff, I purchase copies of Stross’ The Atrocity Archives and Shaun’s The Lost Thing from Justin, and Margo’s Black Juice from Bill. The copy of TLT I invest in is a lovely hardcover, which I’m hoping will provide a suitable substitute for my three-year-old’s much-loved (ie – virtually destroyed) paperback copy. I finally get a chance to chat to Cat and catch up on more Sydneyside gossip (Cat knows all). Then I’m due on a panel entitled ‘The Eldritch Influence of H.P Lovecraft’ (MA), with Stross, Ori Shifrin and Terry Frost. It’s great fun, and I once again not only get to display my vast knowledge of the subject (ha!) to my adoring public (ha-HAAA!), but get to learn stuff as well. I’m especially taken by Charles’ comment – obvious when you think about it, but intriguing nonetheless – that Horror is pretty much the only genre you can apply a gloss of to any other genre. Hmmm. Better start writing my Lifestyle Guide/Horror novel soonish! Afterwards, I get Charles to sign my copy of The Atrocity Archives, which he does, adding: ‘Destroy Before Reading’ in flowing script.

Noon: Already stiff from sitting on the previous panel, I opt to miss Shaun Tan’s GoH speech (Tsk! I hear you mutter), and instead head for the bar, where I meet up with Mark and a gent who introduces himself as Charles Spiteri: fellow member of the Southern Horror email list. We sit, drink and chat for a while, then all make our way down to the foyer where Stross is having a signing session. Having already secured an autograph, I’m more interested in finding lunch, and head off to a little Southern American restaurant I know (‘KFC’, if you want to look it up. They do a very tasty chicken) with Bill and Mark in tow. We wolf down lunch – well, I wolf down lunch, the others eat in an extremely civilized manner – then head back.

There’s a meeting at 1.15 pm of the Australian Horror Writers Association, which we all want to attend. Bill, unfortunately, has to man the bookselling table, but Mark and I head upstairs with Charles (via the bar) to the mezzanine where the meeting is being held. Aside from Carl Schaller, Paul Poulton, Jason Nahrung and his partner Mil, Paul, Miranda, and Kirstyn McDermott also attend. There’s a certain air of formality at first, with Carl and Kirstyn discussing the aims of the AHWA and benefits of membership. Then – following my pointed query regarding whether everyone at the meeting knows everyone else – we all introduce ourselves, and the meeting tacks off into discussions of Victorian and NSW horror fandom, which is far more entertaining and horrific. Ben, the ‘con newbie, who has wandered over thinking we’re just a bunch of folk discussing general stuff, leaves quietly, his face a white mask of terror. Mondy arrives, and joins in the discussion with gusto – although his obvious confusion every time the subject changes doesn’t bode well for his tenure as association treasurer! As the meeting breaks up around 3.00 pm, I grab my chance to tell Kirstyn that her short story, ‘The Truth About Pug Roberts’ (Southern Horror, 2003, buy a copy now!), is one of my all-time favourites.

Down to see the ‘Rogues and Villains’ panel (PGR), with Stross, Trudi Canavan, Paul Poulton and Richard Harland. Very entertaining stuff, with some interesting takes on what distinguishes a villain from a rogue, and how villainous a villain needs to be to truly be a villain. I’m intending to catch the ‘Many-Headed Editor’ panel (G) at 5.00 pm, followed by the Fan Fund Auction (X) at 6.00 pm, but I bump into Sarah in the foyer immediately after ‘Rogues’, and she suggests hitting the hotel spa instead.

Well, what would you do?

I’ve not brought a towel, so Sarah kindly offers to lend me one from her room (Awww, that old ploy!). Her hubby, John, is hanging out in their room when we get there, and doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed that his wife would think of heading off to the spa with a macho hunk o’ spunk. Or with me. I’ve not brought any bathers either, and briefly consider nuding up (on the proviso that Sarah turns her back, as I’m shy). I’ve been told that, nude, I do look as though I’m wearing an unironed 1920s-style bathing suit., which is unlikely to offend anyone except an unironed 1920s-style female. However, the security camera covering the spa puts me off, so I opt to wear my grundies in lieu. Note to anyone who used the spa after I did – I always wear clean undies, just in case I’m in an accident, although I can’t vouch for how clean they’d be if an accident were to actually occur. The spa itself is looking a bit…well, frothy. ‘People soup’, as Sarah puts it, and I try to reign in my imagination as we sink into what is hopefully just a mixture of sweat and skin-cells, but probably isn’t. Sarah and I spend a pleasant (but ultimately wrinkly) hour and a half in the spa, chatting, discussing Greek philosophy, and debating the intricacies of Quantum Physics (people are going to talk, not matter what the hell I write here), before being joined by another ‘con attendee (whose name embarrassingly escapes me). We chat briefly, then our companion makes his way to what the hotel has laughingly referred to as the ‘lap pool’ – all two-by-two metres of it – and Sarah and I hit the change rooms. Separately, for those who wonder about such things…

Note to self: it doesn’t matter how much you wring your undies out after wearing them as a pair of bathers – if you put them back on under a pair of dry jeans, they will still inevitably make you walk like you’ve kakked yourself.

Sarah heads off to catch a nap in her room. I head back down to the foyer, where I’m annoyed to find that I’ve missed the auction, but am compensated somewhat by finally bumping into Richard Harland. Richard has recently traveled to Russia, and we spend several minutes discussing the comparative beauty of Russian and Czech women, and…well, not much else, really. Everyone is beginning to look rather weary, and I hope this doesn’t bode ill for the Masquerade tonight. The lovely Alison Barton makes an appearance, looking classy as always, as does Keith Stevenson, looking Scottish. I hang around Bill’s table, ready to help move his books into the Collins Room as soon as it gets vacated by the last panel of the night. Approximately twenty other folk, most much bigger than I, have the same idea, and I’m relegated to supervising as others do the actual labour. And they said my retail management skills would never come in handy in the ‘real world’!

6.30 pm: Bill, Eric and myself head off in search of dinner. Eric says he’s discovered a little place down the street that does wonderful chocolates. Bill and I are a little dubious, hoping for slightly more filling fare, but Eric convinces us by explaining that the place also does sandwiches and the like. Unfortunately, by the time we get there, there are no sandwiches or like to be had, as the place only does sandwiches and the like for lunch. Eric and Bill browse through the shop, salivating, while I wait outside in order to avoid temptation. After Eric has stocked up on lime ganache, we head over to a nearby café (just closing as we get there), which does very large foccacias at a very large price. Munching happily, we head back to the Vic to attend the launch of Andrew Macrae’s and Keith Stevenson’s Cock (anthology, that is) and Paul Haines’ new collection. It’s a fun do, with a really good turnout once again. I must admit, I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on Keith’s Cock (boom-tish!). However, I quickly realize the limited funds are even more limited after a day of fervent spending, so I reluctantly decide to forgo Cock (Oo-er, ma’am!) for today. Fortunately, my tightness (insert Cock-related pun here) doesn’t seem to extend (ha!) to the rest of the attendees, and the ‘do’ is a big success, with Stross launching Cock, and Cat launching Paul’s collection.

At 7.30 pm I wander off to the Swanston Room to help set up for the Masquerade Ball. Hespa Mann, an attractive young laydee, has organised a full complement of DJ equipment for me, and I spend about half-an-hour sweating nervously over the unfamiliar rig (ergh!), trying to get the damn thing to work, before finally noticing that the power switch at the back is, in fact, off. A few practice mixes, and I’m set. Much work has gone into decorating the room: the theme of the ball, like the ‘con itself, is ‘Retro, and the tables have been decorated with little bonbonieri of 70’s kids toys, plastic dinosaurs, and the like.

At 8.15 pm, having amused myself no end by playing ‘A Walk In The Black Forest’ several times concurrently to an empty room, I attempt to kick off the night by playing a few upbeat retro songs in the hope that this will entice the partygoers waiting in the foyer to come in.

9.00 pm: Partygoers begin to enter the room, and - within a few short drinks – hit the dancefloor. The costuming seems rather more demure than at some of the past masquerades I’ve been to: very little cleavage on show, despite a fair selection of corsets. The more memorable costumes include a retro-style gold lame spaceman’s uniform, a trio of Gestapo-types (father and kids, I believe - ‘Fascism’; the game the whole family can play!), a red-robed Satanic cultist (who may have been Charles Stross), and a sexy young miss named Amy, dressed in black lycra and PVC, who does an old (well, no longer young) man a world of good by coming over to chat awhile - accompanied by her rather large brother, who is dressed as a ninja. I inadvertently show my age by complimenting her on her ‘Emma Peel’ costume. Turns out she’s dressed as the chick from Serenity. Nuts. Danny Oz comes over to say hello, and I’m surprised to see him using a cane. Apparently he suddenly lost much of the feeling in one leg a few months back, although ‘they’ haven’t worked out why yet. A word from the wise: that’s what Morris Dancing will do to you. That’s why I stick to the more refined and civilized dances, like The Hustle.

The dancefloor stays full for pretty much the rest of the night, which does my ego no end of good. While some of my musical choices raise a few eyebrows (‘Thank God I’m A Country Boy’, anyone?), everyone seems to be having a great time. Daggy seems to be the theme and mood of the night, which suits me just fine. Highlight of the night is the dance-off between Mitch and Mondy – both resplendent in their white Saturday Night Fever dance gear – to the BeeGees’ ‘Stayin’ Alive’. I can also tell Mondy is delighted when I play ‘We Built This City’ for him, ‘cos he proposes to me. ABBA gets a few spins, as does New Order, The Buggles, and even Hawkwind (requested by a guy who looks frighteningly like Jerry Garcia), although my playing of ‘Funky Gibbon’ earns an accusation of ‘You’re a bad man!’ from Perky. Still, I take careful note of all the folks who danced to that particular track, and bribes will be accepted to keep shtum.

I manage to play most of the requests made throughout the night (apologies to Carl Schaller for forgetting to put on AC/DC!), and round off the night by bullying everyone in the room into a circle on the dancefloor, where they link arms and sing and kick up their heels to ‘New York, New York’. A great way to end the night, although Stross’ partner afterward threatens that next time I DJ, she and the other ladies will make me wear a corset and kick up my heels. Point taken.

Show over, I spend a few minutes on the onerous duty of accepting compliments from attractive young women (God, it’s hard work being the DJ!). Having basked in enough adoration to keep me functioning for another year, I collect my discs and head off. As I reach the hotel exit, I can hear Cat’s voice bellowing from the balcony in conversation with Margo (pretty!). “Oi! Sparks! Keep it down! We can hear you over the music!” “Piss off!” she suggests, so I do. It’s only 12.15 am, and I’m completely knackered. How did I ever manage to work until 6.00 am every day when I was a DJ back in the 90’s?

Oh yeah, that’s right – I was young.

Sunday 6^th

I awaken at 7.45 am to discover that my son Max has bonded with Bill. “Hey Maxy! Kiss for Daddy?” “No Daddy – where’s Bill?” Ungrateful little bastard – see if I let you flick through my porn collection again! Bill heads off around 8.45 am (“Bill coming back, Daddy?” “No Maxy – Bill is leaving forever because he doesn’t love you any more.”), with me following about ten minutes later. I arrive at 9.45 am, and - still knackered from the previous night - take the opportunity to sink into one of the comfortable mezzanine armchairs with the Sunday paper and a bottle of Diet Coke for about an hour, before heading back downstairs.

11.00 am: ‘Coming Soon’ (PGR) is a fascinating panel run by Mitch, Mondy, Terry and Simon, focusing on forthcoming media releases, with screenings of trailers and previews. Shows and movies previewed include a prequel TV series to Battlestar Gallactica, the new Bond flick, Casino Royale (given a big thumbs up by the panel), Snakes on a Plane (thumbs up), Ghost Rider (thumbs down, although it looked kinda cool to me), World Trade Centre (the usual US schmaltz), The Prestige (thumbs up), Flushed Away (a bizarre Aardman / Dreamworks collaboration with CGI claymation-looking characters, which looks like fun), Ratatouille (an almost identical-looking film by Pixar, also looking good), Rocky 6 (Christ!), Flyboys (the latest Devlin / Emmerich crap-pit), Spiderman 3 (cool!), and a new CGI Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie (which actually looks like it might be fun). I leave the panel with my head stuffed more full of useless information than when I left university.

Noon: Time for the Stross GoH Q&A session, and, really, I do kinda feel I should attend at least one GoH event, if only to be polite. Sitting with Cat and Paul as the event is about to begin, I catch up on all the saucy convention gossip, which kinda pales into insignificance beside the sort of gossip you’d get at a Perth convention, but is nonetheless better than nothing. Among other things, Cat apparently spent most of the previous night in a seedy local gin joint before crawling into the cupboard in Paul’s hotel room to sleep it off.

The Q&A session is ably MC’d by Kirstyn, and among the many gems of information she draws from Charles over the course of the next hour are:

· That he writes across many different series of novels solely because he gets bored easily.

· That there is nothing to compare to the pain of trying to sell the idea of free book downloads to a publisher.

· That he struggles daily with his inability to keep up with even a fraction of all new publications in the speculative genres while maintaining his writing.

· That awards (particularly Hugos) are very nice and shiny, as well as providing a nice ego-boost, being (as the Hugos are) a vote of confidence by one’s readership.

Stross further notes that, as far as he can see, The Hugo is the only award that tends to have a direct impact upon sales of a book. All in all, a very enjoyable and enlightening session.

At 1.00 pm there’s a signing session in the foyer for Margo and Shaun, and I’ve brought along my copies of both their books. The queue is approximately three kilometers long, but I manage to pass the time pleasantly enough chatting to a nice lady named Naomi. When I eventually reach the head of the queue, Shaun signs The Lost Thing for Max, then draws a little picture underneath! Brilliant! It’ll be worth a fortune when he’s dead! Margo (pretty!) signs as I mumble incoherent thanks, then - excitedly reading what she’s written inside, and caught up in the moment – I utter a word I’ve never before uttered before in my life, and hopefully never will again.

“Squee!”

Margo laughs. I cringe and slink away, my respectability (such as it was) in tatters.

Five minutes later I’m over it all, and off to lunch with Sarah. We find a rather nice little café in the heart of the city, where I tuck into a massive chicken Caesar salad and Sarah fills me in on how everyone back in Perth is doing (see my Fandomedia 2005 report). Somebody should set a Soap Opera in that city.

3.00pm: ‘Paranoia and the New World (Dis)Order’ (MA) examines whether the future is all doom-and-gloom, with panelists Stross, David Cake, and Russell and Jenny Blackford discussing which current sociological trends seem to be heading towards major changes. Things get slightly ugly at one point when a member of the audience, taking exception to some of Dave’s political leanings, begins to voice his objections. Heated barbs are traded, and the audience – perhaps understandably impatient with anyone interrupting their listening pleasure, regardless of whether or not that person has a valid point – begin to shout the objectee down. However, it is Stross who finally brings the turmoil to an end with: “Excuse me? Eat shit. Twelve billion flies can’t be wrong.” Not classy, perhaps, but effective.

4.00 pm: Time to kill. Sarah has given me her mobile number to call in case of emergencies, and I need a beer, which obviously qualifies, so I give her a buzz. She’s just on her way down to Perky and Tori’s room for ‘coffee and cuddles’, and invites me along. Sarah, John, Perky, Tori and myself spend a very pleasant hour or so drinking coffee and – yes – cuddling (I shan’t mention who was involved – adds more intrigue to the story!), and I finally have a chance to congratulate P&T on their recent engagement. To each other. Time flies, and before I know it it’s nearly 6.00 pm, at which time I’m due to contribute to a session of ‘All Star Blankety Blanks’ (PGR), as hosted by George Ivanoff. We drain our coffees, finish cuddling, and rush downstairs again.

‘ASBB’ is great fun: played over three rounds, with a total of four contestants competing, George reads out various genre-related tag lines containing the titular ‘blank’, while Margo (pretty!), Mondy, Shaun, Paul Poulton, Rachel Holkner and myself attempt to provide witty words and phrases to fill in the blanks, and the contestants attempt to guess what words we’ve picked. Simple. It doesn’t take long for the session to take a detour into MA, though, with Mondy quickly becoming fixated on monkeys, skinned monkeys, soaped-up skinned monkeys, and Jar-Jar Binks (skinned, soaped-up and dressed as a monkey) while suffering from terminal giggles. Embarrassingly, the irresponsible individual who eventually drives the whole shebang into R County is me.

George: “ ‘I am the most advanced android ever constructed,” said Data. “I can even BLANK.” ‘

Me: “Find the clitoris’?

And thus, the convention begins to grind to a close. An hour of milling around (ie – drinking) while the committee and volunteers clean and tidy up is followed by the Official Closing Ceremony at 8.00 pm. All guests are actually in attendance this time, with Mondy delivering the closing address. To make up for Mitch’s lightning-fast Opening Address, Mondy pads his own speech out to an extent usually only attempted by Liberal backbenchers. Everyone looks very tired, but happy. It’s been a most enjoyable convention.

Time for farewells. Hugs and kisses from the Perth and Sydney folk. Margo (pretty!) politely shakes my hand, and tells me that I’m a ‘very silly man’. She thinks I’m silly! ‘Studly’ or ‘’delicious’ would have been ideal, but I’ll take what I can get from this Goddess! Bill is heading for home straight from the hotel, so we say goodbye, and he gives me a very nice bottle of wine and some chocolates as a ‘thank you’ gift for providing accommodation. The man is embarrassingly thoughtful! Can’t wait to attend his and Michelle Marquardt’s wedding in Sydney next year, and catch up with all the Sydneysiders once again. For now, though, it’s time to brave the evening city traffic, and drive back to reality, back to the non-fannish wife and Cyberman-obsessed boy. Cue ‘Bridge Over Troubled Waters’, folks…

I must conclude simply by offering heartfelt congratulations to the entire C4 committee: great fun, great programme, great atmosphere. It was a wonderful re-introduction to the Melbourne genre scene after so many years away, and if this is the caliber of event on offer down south, I can’t wait for Convergence 2 next year!

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