Fandomedia - November 2005
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Friday 18th Wake at 3am – AAAAAAARGH! –
pile luggage into the car, blow kisses to still-sleeping non-fannish wife and
Dalek-obsessed bub, then drive to the airport. Arrive at 4.20am, park in
long-term car park, and catch shuttle bus to Qantas Departures terminal. I’m
a little nervous about checking in; I’m carrying a bunch of Mirrordanse books
– copies of mine and Lucy Sussex’s - to the con for Stephen Dedman to sell,
and Bill Congreve has sent them to me in neat little stacks, individually
wrapped in white paper, which now line the bottom of my suitcase à la the
Columbia Express. Thankfully, nobody raises any objections as the suitcase is
scanned, and I’m waved through security – where an attractive lady officer
submits me to a random explosives and weapons search. I’m not carrying any
random explosives and weapons, so am waved on through into the terminal. It’s still only 4.35am, and the
terminal is completely deserted; shops closed, lights dimmed. It’s all very
Dawn Of The Dead, and I half-expect a crowd of zombies to come staggering
around the corner. Moments later they do, but thankfully they're only
knackered commuters in search of coffee. I hang around the newsagency until
it opens at 5am, then purchase a copy of Darwin Awards II to read on the
plane. I had brought along some Shakespearean plays to read, as research for
a story I’m writing, but at present I’m just too stuffed to wade through
MacBeth for three hours, so light-hearted tales of death by stupidity are a welcome
alternative. Flopping down in the boarding lounge,
I pass the next hour staring at a large poster dominating the wall opposite
me, which reads: ‘People With Depression Just Want A Day Off Work’. Well…yes.
We do. Doesn’t everyone? At 6am, my fellow zombies and I pile into the plane,
which takes off ten minutes later. The flight is extremely comfortable,
although being given a metal fork with which to eat my hearty breakfast of
baked beans does make me wonder why they bother having random explosives and
weapons searches. Maybe the security officer just wanted to cop a feel.
In-flight entertainment consists of the fat bloke next to me drooling on his
shoulder as he sleeps, plus a screening of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,
which is great. We touch down in Peth at 7.45am –
which means that only 1¼ hours have passed during our 3½-hour flight! It’s a
bit like being Doctor Who – in a sad, not-quite-connected-with-reality sort
of way. Disembarking, I look around the terminal for Ju Landèesse, the
Fandomedia convenor, who has arranged to pick me up from the airport. I know
I’m looking for a very short redhead, but there’s nobody answering that
description here. I wait a few minutes, then go to the baggage carousel to
retrieve my suitcase. From there I call Ju on my mobile. She says she’s about
thirty seconds away, and – sure enough – thirty seconds later, not one but two
attractive redheads walk through the crowd towards me; one tall and slim, the
other short and buxom. Ju rather formally offers me a handshake, but – being
more of a tactile type (and a pervy old man) – I opt instead for a big hug
and kiss, and am gratified to have it returned rather enthusiastically. Now that’s
the Perth hospitality I remember! The tall redhead is Erika Pearson, fan GOH
for Fandomedia, who turns out to be just as friendly and chatty as Ju, and
the three of us waffle on like old friends as I retrieve my suitcase and we
head back to Erika’s car. I’m very relieved to be welcomed so
warmly, as I’m really out of my comfort zone here. Not since 1999 have I been
to a con where I don’t really know anyone else attending, so it’s really nice
to be made to feel like one of the family so early on. Okay, maybe not family,
as we’re talking about sex within ten minutes of meeting each other (just in
general, not as an option), but you know what I mean. On route to the Emerald
Hotel, where the con is being held, we drop by the Swan Brewery Hotel for
breakfast (brunch for me, as my internal clock is telling me it’s now 11am,
not 8am. We sit on a wide brick outdoor patio, basking in the sun from a
cloudless Perth sky, gazing across the sparkling waters of the bay, smirking
at the line of unfortunates passing us on their way to work, and ogling the
waiters (Erika and Ju) and waitresses (me and Ju). God, this is fantastic,
and I rave on about the view until breakfast arrives. I’m having salmon and
poached eggs on muffins with hollandaise sauce, and it’s delicious. Ju is
torn between Eggs Benedict and Pear Brioche, but eventually plumps for the
eggs, promising herself that she’ll come back Sunday morning for the pear and
cute (and extremely giggly-gay) waiter. The sex discussion continues,
made more interesting by my discovery of one of Ju’s weak spots; I mention
that I’m looking forward to meeting up with Lee Battersby (who I’ve shared an
email romance with for several years, but have only met in the flesh once,
and very briefly), and Ju tells me how evil Lee is, because he once wrote a
slash story which involved the use of an ice-cream scoop, and is now able to
make Ju blush down to the ground by imitating the noise of the aforementioned
implement. “Like this, you mean?” I say, and proceed to make the appropriate
clicking noise. With a squeak, Ju turns a shade of red rarely seen in nature.
Interesting – I must remember to use this power for evil, not good. As we finish up our breakfast, Ju
hands me an envelope containing $300 in fifty-dollar notes. I’m flattered,
but admit to Ju that this is about six times my usual going rate. She tells
me that this is my meal allowance from WASFF, and that I should keep receipts
for anything I purchase in the envelope, to be returned at the end of the con
along with whatever cash is left. With great power comes great
responsibility, so I responsibly keep the receipt for the round of cocktails
I subsequently buy. After an hour of basking, we
reluctantly leave the brewery and make our way to the hotel, where Erika
parts company with us. Much to my disappointment, the Emerald Hotel is not
only not emerald in colour, but has no yellow-brick road leading up to it.
Disappointment turns to alarm as it transpires that the hotel has lost our
bookings, but the lady on the front desk deals with the problem quickly and
without a fuss. Upon entering my room, I check to confirm that Ju has
complied with my list of Guest of Honour demands, as presented to her before
my acceptance of the role: 1 x bowl of sugarless mints (low
fat). 1 x bowl of sugar. 1 x bottle of charcoal-filtered
Appalachian glacier-water (low fat). 1 x pair of Speedos. 1 x full-size cardboard stand-up of
David Hasselhoff (low fat). 1 x flyswatter. In fact, Ju has complied with exactly
none of my demands – but there is a packet of English Breakfast Tea near the
sink, so I make myself a nice cup of tea to compensate. I spend another ten minutes settling
in, then head down to the lobby to wait for Ju, who appears shortly
afterwards accompanied by the lovely Lyn Battersby, who I’ve not met before.
Her nickname ‘Luscious Lyn’ is well deserved, and I’m more than happy to be
escorted away for drinks by my two curvy companions. I’m taken down Hay Street, one of the
city’s main shopping strips, where we duck into Shafto Lane to visit
Fantastic Planet, the genre bookstore owned by Stephen Dedman and Elaine
Kemp. I’m very pleased to see Cathy Cupitt – who I’ve not seen since Swancon
26 on my last visit to Perth - on duty at the counter. Lyn, Ju and I chat and
browse, then make our way back up the lane to a little Irish pub called Durty
Something-or-Other (Betty’s, possibly?). Upon buying the first round, I
discover that Lyn and I are beer-guzzlers both, and thus is forged a bond
that will bind us together throughout the con. Casual conversation becomes
deep and meaningful as we discuss the important things in life (sex, mostly),
as well as Lee, who should probably keep more secrets from his wife. Around 1pm, Lyn leaves us, so Ju and
I begin to make our way back towards the hotel, stopping to browse through
various specialty shops along the way; 78 Record, Empire Toys, Millennium
Medieval Emporium, and a couple of comic shops. Empire Toys is pure torture,
as I manage to spot about twenty items I simply must have within seconds of
entering. I browse longingly through the Predator / Alien stuff, Ju through
Family Guy and Manga stuff, until eventually we manage to tear ourselves
away, and head back to the hotel, stopping only to pick up lunch supplies. 2pm: Ju and I retire to our
respective rooms to unpack and unwind, with Ju telling me she’ll drop by
about 4.30pm to take me out to a Swancon fundraising screening of Tim
Burton’s Corpse Bride. I take advantage of the free time by throwing the
contents of my suitcase around the room while jumping naked on the bed and
swinging from the light. Just like home. Then I spend a few seconds admiring
the view from my window of the alley wall opposite. Crap-all on TV (some
things are universal), and before I know it it’s 5pm. There’s a knock at the
door. I open it to find Ju standing outside, in a passionate embrace with
another woman. Perhaps this is what passes for Room Service in Perth? Ju
introduces me to Jess Bridges, who is a shy (well, not that shy, let’s face
it) young lady with pale skin. The three of us pile into Jess’ car and drive
across town to the cinema. The journey gives me an opportunity
to admire the Perth views: wide, open, uncluttered roads, surrounded by lush
greenery and lovely clean buildings, both old and modern. I try to keep my
raving to a minimum, as I think I may be beginning to bore my companions with
my enthusiasm for the landscape. Arriving at the cinema, we have dinner at
one of the in-house restaurants, a pleasant little Italian bistro. The lady
running the joint keeps giving us odd looks throughout our meal, and we
wonder what she’s thinking: gay man with two fag-hags in tow? Surely not! I’m
not well dressed enough to be gay! It’s getting towards 6.30pm now, and
we park ourselves in the foyer, waiting for the rest of the screening
attendees to turn up. It’s a pretty good deal Ju’s got going with the cinema
- $10 tickets, with $2 from each ticket going back to the Swancon fundraiser
if Ju manages to get over fifty people along to the screening. First to
arrive is a lady who shows us a card game so addictive that eventually I have
to walk away and vent my frustrations via a shoot-‘em-up video game. Simon
Haynes arrives shortly after. I’ve not seen Simon since ConVergence in 2002,
and it’s great to have the opportunity to catch up. By now, a fair few people have
congregated, so we all make our way into the cinema. The film is great, but
I’m beginning to nod off by the end (9pm), as my body clock is telling me
it’s midnight. More congregating in the foyer afterwards, where I’m
introduced to some of Ju’s friends; James, Jean-Paul, PRK, and Ju’s partner,
Kaneda, who is a muscly, effeminate, Asian guy with extremely long hair and
an infectitious grin. After a few minutes of conversation, Ju drags James,
Jean-Paul, Jess and myself over to a local Baskin-Robbins for ice cream.
There’s much excitement over the cotton-candy ice cream, which does taste
exactly like cotton candy. I opt for peach smoothie, which I share around. By
9.30pm my head is beginning to hit the table, and Ju and Jess take the subtle
hint, driving me back to the hotel, where I stumble back to my room, tumble
into bed, and fall into a deep sleep. Saturday 19th 8am: Wake up, shave, shower, put on
my least offensive shirt (a bright red Hawaiian Tiki number), and dash
downstairs for breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Fantastic start to the day.
Remember folks: everything goes better with bacon. After breakfast, back to
my room to gather up all my suspiciously-packed books, then back down to the
large room which has been set aside for Registration, Gamers and Hucksters.
Erika is already personning the rego desk (there’s commitment for you), and a
few attendees are beginning to arrive. I wander in and out several times,
waiting to be spotted by the paparazzi. Not a sausage. Shrugging off my
dismay, I set up a stack of copies of Worlds Apart next to the rego desk with
a large ‘$5 each’ sign beneath. I’m committed to thinning the boxes of this
title currently supporting my bed. My first sale comes almost immediately, a
blue-haired lady called Mel bemoaning the fact that she really wants a copy,
but only has $2.50 on her. Being the soft touch that I am, I offer her a copy
at the reduced price. Stephen Dedman makes an appearance, and – after
exchanging greetings – I dump my pile of books on him, literally and
metaphorically. At 9am, Ju sweeps into the room,
looking gorgeous, radiant and busty in a black form-fitting dress. Grr! She
instantly assumes the role of Host – meeting and greeting attendees as they
arrive, ensuring that everyone knows where the various facilities are, and so
on. It makes an interesting change from having a convenor who acts primarily
as a Timekeeper or Administrator; Ju gives everyone the impression that this
is a casual gathering of friends, and the result is very relaxing indeed. I
ask Ju if she still wants me to make a bit of a speech at the opening
ceremony. She says yes. I become a little less relaxed: maybe I should think
of something to say… 10am: Time for the opening ceremony!
With around forty attendees sitting expectantly in the main panel room, Ju,
Erika, Simon and myself take our seats at the table. Ju kicks off proceedings
with by thanking everyone except God. Then it’s my turn to say a few
words… Chuck’s GOH Speech
Some
things go without saying; unfortunately for you lot, I’m not one of them… Ten years
ago, there was a young man living in Melbourne – handsome, popular with the
ladies, highly successful – who was angry about the state of the Australian
speculative humour market, in that there wasn’t one. By an amazing
coincidence, I was also living in Melbourne at the time, and was also angry
about the state of the local speculative humour market, mainly because the
major publishers had failed for the 60th time to spot my genre
manuscript Worlds Apart for the work of genius it so obviously was. Anyway, I
persisted, and eventually got my book published. But I was still angry: I was
going to show those other publishers! I was going to prove to the world that
there was a market for Australian speculative humour! Oh yes! Bwaaaaa-ha-ha! And while I was busy ranting, a very strange thing happened: a
young lad from Perth named Simon Haynes self-published a funny SF novel
entitled Hal Spacejock, and a Tasmanian writer named Tansy Rayner Roberts won
a literary prize for a humorous fantasy novel, and a bunch of people from all
over (but mainly the ACT) began working on a primarily humorous genre
periodical entitled Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, and the incoming
editor of Aurealis – a Mister Keith Stevenson – began to show a distinct
leaning towards speculative humour, and a lady from NSW named Cat Sparks put
together an anthology called Agog!, which was initially intended as a
showcase for ‘fun’ SF… And suddenly, I find I’m living in a world absolutely awash with
markets for speculative humour, and I just can’t maintain the anger any more,
since this is exactly the world I was hoping to try and kick-start with my
ranting. However,
never in my wildest dreams (and I’ve had some wild ones – hoo, boy, yes!)
could I ever have predicted that I’d one day be attending – nay, Guest of
Honour at – an actual convention revolving around speculative humour! In
fact, if you’d even suggested such a thing to me ten years ago, I’d probably
have said: ‘A convention? Isn’t that one of those things where all the people
who never have sex turn up in Star Trek costumes?’ But here we are, and I can tell that
it’s going to be a brilliant con. And I know this, because I had the
opportunity to spend the entire day yesterday with our fabulous convenor, Ju
(and there are many photos of me quaffing beer and reading menus to back this
up). Twenty-two hours in Ju’s company, and I’ve come to know her better than
I know some of my best friends: I know she’s brash, bouncy, beautiful, and
the immediate centre of attention wherever she goes. She’s incredibly
generous in all aspects of her life, and is particularly good at giving
credit to others when they’re out of earshot. She has a child-like delight
for life in general. She also has unplumbed depths of depravity that have
left me tingling. I simply can’t think of anyone better suited to putting
together an event of this nature. So, as if I needed to do this, I’d like to
invite everyone here to have an absolute ball over this weekend. I’ve always
said that Western Australians are the heart and soul of Australian fandom,
and with people like Ju joining the ranks, that’s obviously going to continue
for a long time yet. Finally,
I’d like to share with you a particularly interesting fact about Ju, which is
that if you imitate the sound of an ice-cream scoop, she blushes down to the
floor. Please feel free to approach her and put this to the test throughout
the con. Thank you. Simon then gets up to deliver a
similarly praise-filled speech, followed by Erika. We’re running ahead of
time, so Ju takes us straight into the first panel of the con: ‘Iron Writer’
(otherwise known as guest torture). The concept is simple: three victims (in
this case, we three guests) must each write a short story which includes
various themes, words and locations selected randomly by the audience. Our
progress is commentated by Kaneda (Iron Chef-style), who simultaneously runs
a series of similarly themed Haiku competitions behind us, which involve
members of the audience. All very fun and frenetic. Words to be included in each story:
taser, legume, cheese, wombat, discombobulated, and google. Location: on the set of a Britney
Spears video shoot. Themes: Regency Romance (Chuck), Epic
Fantasy (Erika) and Civil War – with Tentacle Sex (Simon). The results are predictably weird and
hilarious, with the winner decided upon by audience applause. Simon wins,
being a far more twisted individual than Erika or myself. Noon: Lunch! So a bunch of us
coagulate into a group with the intention of hitting the local yum-cha.
Jean-Paul and myself manage to hitch a lift with Kylie – a statuesque,
corset-wearing, red(ish)-haired stunner (what is it with Perth and redheads?)
– and Matthew Ferrer, an ACT-based Warhammer novelist. The all-too-brief
drive gives me another chance to admire the city and rave about it to my
companions. What is it with me and Perth architecture? Maybe I’m getting old
and boring. The yum-cha restaurant we roll up at
is big and full. Some of the guys have already arrived, securing a table
tucked away in the far corner, presumably so we don’t put off the other
diners. Lee and Lyn are here, as are the infamous Stephanie Gunn (another
redhead!) and her fiancé, Wade, plus Martin Livings and his partner Isabelle,
Christopher Phillips, and PRK (referred to as ‘Perky’). Lunch is fantastic,
and Lyn and I discover yet another connection – a love of seafood, which both
of our partners despise. Lee, far from being nervous about the sexual tension
between myself and his wife, jokes about putting her up for sale. But what
sort of an ad would you run? I suggest: “Previous owner a destitute writer,
who only rode her on weekends’. Lyn hits me. Hard. Ow. 1.30 pm: Back to the convention, and
it’s time for a combined launch of the Shadow Box anthology, Borderlands and
Eidolon. Shane Jiraiya Cummings leads the former, with Lyn, Lee, Martin and
Stephanie – all contributors to the smartly-packaged-and-reasonably-priced
e-anthology - doing readings. That over, Stephen Dedman takes the floor and
talks a little about Borderlands (which he unfortunately has no copies of)
and Eidolon (which he unfortunately has no copies of). Fortunately, he does
have copies of his latest collection – Never Seen By Waking Eyes – which he
plugs by reading a comic SF story that does not appear in that collection. Cheaper than drugs, folks. In actual fact the reading is
excellent, and after the ‘launch’ I immediately head out to the Hucksters’
Room, where Fantastic Planet have a stall, and purchase a copy of Stephen’s
collection, which I get him to sign for me. ASIM also have a table set up (is
there ever a con anywhere in Australia where they don’t?), and I say hi to
Sally Beasley, who is manning it, and who twists my arm to buy a handsome
disposable biro with ‘Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine' printed on the
side in silver. Priceless. Ju catches my arm as she breezes by,
looking radiant. “Come and meet Sarah Parker, she insists on being
introduced.” Sarah is a lovely lady with a cleavage you could mould
speed-humps on, and only a lifetime of practice at maintaining eye contact
with large-breasted ladies prevents me from diving forwards and going
‘flubba-flubba-flubba’. Sorry. 2:30pm: With difficulty, I drag
myself away from Sarah’s hypnotic breasts, and off to the panel on Comedy in
Horror. With Stephen, Shane and Martin running the panel, an informed,
culturally enriching discussion is inevitable. Fortunately, Lee is sitting up
the back to assist in dragging the whole thing back into the gutter where it
belongs. The final verdict?: ‘Horror in Comedy is Ubiquitous’ I must look
that word up someday; I always thought it was a sort of miniature antelope. 3:30pm: It’s time for me to take part
in a panel on The Goodies, something I’ve been wanting to do for years! I’m
introduced to my fellow fanatics, Damien Magee and David Gunn, who I probably
should have gotten in contact with prior to now to discuss what we’re going
to discuss. Despite my unpreparedness, the panel goes well. If anything, Goodies
fans are more ardent than the average SF fan, and the fair-sized audience
(most of them, as I point out, of a similar age – certainly old enough to
remember the 70’s/80’s ABC evening combo of The Goodies, a Men Without
Hats/Dire Straits video clip, and Doctor Who) sit and bask happily in a sort
of shared appreciation of the eponymous comic trio. D&D kick off by
discussing the roots and background of The Goodies, then I jump in to discuss
the speculative nature of the show, with all its constant references to SF,
fantasy and horror. Then, as D&D take up the thread of which subsequent
comedians have been influenced by The Goodies, I suddenly recall that the
very best job I ever had was landed as a direct result of the show, a fact
I’d completely forgotten about until now! I quickly break into the discussion
to relate the tale: Back in 1990, I’d just applied as a
DJ at Bobby McGee’s nightclub in Melbourne. I knew a great deal about ‘retro’
music (a McGee’s specialty) but had no actual experience spinning discs, and
my interview with the dour-faced American CEO wasn’t going well. Aside from
playing music, McGee’s DJ’s were required to interact with the crowd by
leading sing-alongs (with the words to popular songs written on big cards so
that everyone could follow along) and ‘dance dynamics’, which were basic
dance-routines performed to specific songs. As the interview drew to a close,
the CEO put the screws on by asking me to come up with a dance routine on the
spot! I wracked my brain for a moment, then asked him if there was a copy of
The Hustle in the DJ booth. There was. He put it on. “This is a little piece
called The Disco Heave’,” I said, and performed it. The CEO laughed so hard he nearly
burst an eyeball. I worked as a DJ for that company for the next six years. Anyhoo, back to the convention… 4:30pm: Time for the panel on ‘When
Comedy Goes Too Far – Where Is The Line?’, with Lyn, PRK, Sarah Greet, and
local actor/comedian John Robertson. Speculative shows such as ‘Happy Tree
Friends’ and ‘League of Gentlemen’ are discussed, as are the early films
of Peter Jackson. Then the discussion
turns to jokes, and John – a tall, toothy, manic-looking guy in a purple
three-piece suit with white bottle-blonde hair – tells us about the some of
the worst jokes he’s ever heard or told. I won’t repeat the ‘all-time nastiest
joke I ever told’ that he shared with us; suffice to say, his ‘two
paedophiles walk into Auschwitz’ and ‘twin towers’ jokes pale in comparison. 5:30pm: ‘Trailers and Other
Weirdness’, run by Ju and David Gunn, is bizarre, to say the least. The
audience is treated to a variety of movie trailers, as well as ads from
around the world, and other media snippets. Highlights include: an hilarious
trailer for Kubrick’s The Shining, re-cut, with new backing music, so that it
seems to be selling a middle-American romantic comedy; a Japanese
haute-couture ad for McDonald’s; and vision taken from a popular combat video
game, where the characters have been controlled in such a way that they
appear to be performing a dance-routine to Nelly’s ‘Hot In Here’! Towards the end, we’re treated to the
new Doctor Who Children In Need ‘special episode’ Halfway through, I feel a
tap on my shoulder It’s Lyn, telling
me that she and Sarah Parker want to know if I’d like to join them in the
bar. Hmmm…Doctor Who versus beer and busty ladies…let me think… Three seconds later I’m in the bar,
sharing a jug of beer with Lyn. A fair crowd begins to gather, and eventually
someone suggests diluting the beer with a meal. I join Stephen, Elaine, son
Alistair, and a few others in the hotel restaurant. The food is excellent.
Simon and his wife, Jo, are enjoying a romantic childless night out nearby.
Lyn and Lee are dining with Matthew. I kill time while waiting for my meal to
arrive by going over to Lyn’s table and removing her silverware, then
bringing it back a few moments later. Not funny, no, but it keeps her
wondering. Messing with people’s heads is fun; Ju swears by it. 8:00 pm: Absolutely knackered (the
two jugs of beer shared with Lyn – and the rest at dinner – may have
something to do with this), so – like the old man I’ve become - I decide to
hit the hay. It seems only polite to track down Ju and say goodnight, and I
find her in the main panel room with a bunch of other folk, sitting around a
table, playing cards. An invitation to join them has me sitting down to
attend last programmed event for Saturday – ‘The Biggest Snorter Game In
Perth’. Run by Neil Herzog – a tall bald guy wearing a green tracksuit – the
game consists of each player being assigned an animal and appropriate noise
(any two folk who get the same animal must make different noises). Players
then take turns dealing animal-printed cards into a central pile. If the
animal belonging to someone sitting at the table is dealt, the dealer must
imitate the noise made by that player before the other player can imitate the
noise made by the dealer. Whoever gets there first gets to palm off their
card to the loser. First person to get rid of all their cards wins. Not as easy as it sounds;
increasingly less so after everyone’s had a couple of drinks. Christopher
breaks open a couple of Swancon Fundraising wines for tasting. Yum. Sarah
darts out, then returns with a bottle of Green Chartreuse, which she and I
share in shot form. Oddly enough, for a not-entirely-reformed alcoholic, I’ve
never tried Green Chartreuse before, and boy! does it pack a punch!
Someone runs to the bar to see if we can still get drinks. The bar has
closed, but one of the bar staff brings us some drinks anyway, and I’m so
impressed with the service that I tip her $10. She opts to join us as the
game continues, and – coincidence! – she’s an SF fan. Welcome home, luv! Eventually, at Sarah’s suggestion, we
ditch Snorter and play a new game called Discs; each player receives a disc
with a number of responses on it, ranging from ‘Never’ to ‘Fuck Yeah!’. Each
player gets to ask a question, everyone turns their disc to highlight their
preferred response, and the discs are then tossed into the centre of the
table, then collected, and the results tallied. Okay, so not really a ‘game’
as such, but certainly very interesting to find out how many people think,
for example, that being paid for sex is the ultimate high. By this time, the alcohol has
affected more than everyone’s memory, and I’m now treated to a sideshow of
girl-on-girl lip-lock. I must admit, previously, I’d probably been the only
guy in the world who never found the girl/girl thing much of a turn-on, but
obviously I’ve never seen the right two (and – at one point – three) girls
kissing. Brilliantly, the ladies in question are quite willing to share it
around, but - being a gentleman (nope – still can’t say that with a straight
face) - I’ll refrain from naming names, places and body-parts, especially as
I may incriminate myself. By the time the action (the game, that is) winds
down, it’s midnight. So much for an early night! Tired, pissed, and still
tent-pitchingly aroused, I pole-vault back to my room and crash. At least the
con doesn’t kick off until 10am tomorrow – I can sleep in until 9am! Sunday 20th 6am: DAMMMITOHELL! Why the
heck have I woken up this early?! It’s just plain nuts! Still, my head is
oddly clear, and I’m feeling quite perky. Down to the restaurant for a
healthy breakfast, then out into the streets of Perth for a walk. I’d just like to pause for a moment
here, and point out to readers that I do not walk. It’s just not
something I do. Perth is obviously affecting me in strange and wonderful
ways. I make my way down Milligan and Hay Streets, nodding to other
early-morning walkers. One attractive young lady even greets me with a
cheerful: ‘Good morning!” Back in Melbourne or Sydney, I would have assumed
she was mental (and, quite possibly, she is), but here in Perth it just sums
up the whole atmosphere of the place, so I smile back and return the
greeting. The unfeasibly clean footpaths (even the occasional discarded
McDonald’s wrapper seems to have been carefully arranged for maximum
aesthetic effect) are pretty much deserted, except where the occasional café
has put out chairs and tables. There, people sit, quietly sipping coffee,
reading papers, and generally giving the impression that Perth is the best
place in the world to live. Right now, I’d find it hard to argue that point.
It’s simply beautiful out here. Everything is so uncluttered, with a
‘newly-constructed-yet-lived-in’ look. Walking further down Hay Street, I
suddenly realise I’m passing the Rydges hotel where I attended Swancon 26!
Look – there’s the patch of pavement where I fell down drunk! That’s the spot
where I vomited Deb Biancotti’s vodka into the gutter! That’s the street
corner where Bill Congreve folded me into a taxi! Ah, memories! I continue
down Hay Street for a while, then cut through London Court – ye authentic
Olde English architecture, boasting authentic Olde English Aussie souvenirs –
then loop back to the hotel. Only 9am, and I’m still feeling
energised. I duck back to my room, turn on the TV, and spend the next few
minutes watching what I first assume to be Video Hits – lights, dancing,
singing – but which actually turns out to be a religious programme. Video
Hits is on the other channel, though, so I spend the next hour dancing around
the room to Kylie and Madonna songs. What the hell is Perth doing to me? I
feel like I’m 20 again (though I probably look 40, and an uncool 40 at that). As I make my way downstairs, I keep
running into people expressing surprise that I’ve shaped up so well ‘after
last night’. Almost as many people ask if I got lucky. Yes, I reply: lucky my
head hasn’t exploded, the amount of alcohol I put away. Must be the Perth
air, or something. 10am: First event of the day – Kaneda
makes coffee! No fools, these Perth fans. I’d assumed this would simply be an
exercise in coffee-drinking, but no; Kaneda, a professional barrista, is
actually running a panel on the subject, and it’s a testament to his
knowledge and ability to entertain a crowd that the group of knackered,
coffee-seeking zombies attending the panel actually sit quietly and listen as
Kaneda explains about coffee and its history, how barristas work with it,
preferred coffee-making machines, and so on. When cups of coffee are finally
handed around, everyone seems to display a new appreciation for the product
as they sip. Taking five minutes out at the end of
the panel, I run into Erika and Simon, who are preparing for our
‘Interviewing the Alien’ panel scheduled for later that afternoon. Basically,
it’s a free-form panel where I pretend to be an alien being interviewed by
Erika and Simon, while fielding questions from the audience. I’ve done a bare
minimum of preparation, opting instead to rely upon my comic wit to supply
any answers to curly questions; an approach that only now is beginning to
seem a little over-optimistic. We
spend a few minutes throwing together a run-sheet of sorts, then I head off
to see ‘The John Robertson Comedy Hour’. 11am: As it turns out, ‘The John
Robertson Comedy Hour’ consists of John putting on a video of ‘Invisible
Strangler’, while we all shout out smart-arse dialogue over the top. Genius!
Or, as John puts it, ‘severe lack of preparation’. Lots of fun, though, with
the added benefit of making me feel less nervous about ‘Interviewing the
Alien’. Noon: Lunchtime. I need to be back by
1.30pm, as I’m launching my Confessions of a Pod Person collection then, so
Erika and I opt to walk to Hay Street and pick up a subway from…Subway. Given
the great treatment I’ve received from the fine folk of Perth so far, I can
only assume that the Subway girl who serves me is from out of town. I order a
roast beef sub with salad, and – smiling pleasantly – she begins to prepare
what looks suspiciously like a chicken fillet. Er, actually, I wanted roast
beef, I tell her. Yes, this is roast beef, she replies. I’m unconvinced, but
perhaps this is some unusual form of Perth sun-bleached beef I’ve not
previously encountered. I accept my subway, and take a big bite of chicken.
Er…hello? Miss? See this beef? It’s actually chicken. No sir, she says, it’s
definitely beef. See? It came out of this container marked ‘beef’. Actually,
says the manager, overhearing us, I put the chicken into the beef container
today, as we ran out of room in the beef container. What’s in the beef
container? asks the first girl. Corn. We’re overstocked, comes the answer. I make a mental note to scan future
obituaries, looking for notification of a girl in Perth trampled to death
while feeding cows she’d mistaken for chickens. 1:30pm: Simon and I are doing a
combined launch, his for the recently published Fremantle Press edition of
his originally self-published Hal Spacejock novel. Simon Oxwell and Grant
Watson are preparing A/V equipment as we arrive at the appropriate room – great
to see them again! Lee Battersby gets up to say some
very nice things about my writing (cheque’s in the mail, Lee!). I get up and
do a reading of one of my stories. Lee then says a few words about Simon, and
Simon reads several brief extracts from his novel. I’ve not read Simon’s
novel for several years, and I’ve heard it’s been considerably tightened and
reworked since then, so I make a mental note to buy a copy before con’s end.
Grant Watson loudly notes that he misread the title of my collection as Confessions
of a Poo Person, and from that moment there’s no going back – I can’t
even look at my own book without thinking ‘Poo Person’. Thanks Grant, you
evil little bastard! 2:30pm: Time for the ‘Writing Comic
Fiction – Making It Sell’ panel, with myself, Simon and Elaine. Simon and I
trot out the usual waffle about comic SF we’ve been trotting out for every
‘Comedy in SF’ panel at every convention we’ve attended since 2001. Elaine
brings a fresh note to proceedings by approaching the topic from a bookseller’s
perspective, giving everyone a valuable insight into what sells and what
doesn’t at the strictly financial end of the market. 3.30pm: ‘Interview with the Alien’.
It all starts off a little low-key. Nerves have taken their inevitable toll,
and I’m simply not being funny, or snappy, or clever; most of my responses to
audience questions consisting of ‘what a stupid question!’. However, as the
hour winds on, and everyone begins to relax a little, the panel begins to
flow more easily. My demonstration of alien language – via the medium of
interpretive dance – seems to be the turning point. A subsequent
demonstration of how our hands double as reproductive organs also seems to be
a crowd pleaser, especially when I drag Luscious Lyn out of the audience to demonstrate.
Unbeknownst to me, this almost brings on a full-blown claustrophobic panic
attack in Lyn – a fact that she disguises extremely well, and only confesses
to me much later, wracking me with guilt. By the end of the session, the
audience seem to be fairly happy. It’s been no ‘John Robertson Comedy Hour’,
but we all had some fun. 4.30pm: Time for the Closing
Ceremony! Everyone piles into the main panel room to listen to Ju, Simon,
Erika and myself thanking everyone for coming along. Lee starts up a chant of
‘Spacejock! Spacejock!’ as I say a few words, and ‘Poo Person! Poo Person!’
as Simon says his piece. Then Ju swings into the launch for Fandomedia 2005:
Hunger, with Marianne de Pierres as GOH, and Luscious Lyn Battersby as local
GOH! PRK, sitting in the front row of the audience, suggests calling it
‘SmutCon’. Hell, I want to be here for that con! Lee Battersby
suggests an additional guest: my Hawaiian Tiki shirt from day one.
Unfortunately, my shirt will be shooting a Pepsi commercial in Hollywood
around that time… Coincidentally, it’s also Ju’s
birthday, and everyone joins in serenading Ju with a rousing rendition of
‘Happy Birthday To You’, which makes her blush almost as much as the
ice-cream scoop impersonation we all finish the song off with. 5.30pm: Official silliness over with,
everyone heads to the hotel bar. I manage to pick up a copy of Hal Spacejock
en-route, and Simon kindly signs it for me. Over three copies of Worlds Apart
have been sold, so I squirrel the remaining twenty-seven copies back to my
room, before heading back downstairs to the bar. Kaneda has organised a
casual birthday party for Ju, and as she enters we treat her to another round
of ‘Happy Birthday To You’. Finger-food is passed around, while Lyn and I
quaff jugs of beer. After an hour or so of Deep and Meaningful Conversation,
Lyn decides that she really does love me (as Lee looks on with no concern
whatsoever), and opines loudly that she’s just far too monogamous for her own
good. I suspect that the three jugs of beer we’ve shared are doing the
talking, but everyone sitting near us takes her comments on board, earnestly
nodding agreement. As the alcohol flows, Lee and John lead the party in
rousing renditions of popular songs as sung by Rammstein, ie – in deep German
accents with Nazi catch-cries. John treats us to more politically incorrect
jokes, while Lyn flirts outrageously with me. Lee just grins, which is
slightly worrying. Maybe they’ve got some sort of weird ‘my husband likes to
watch’ thing going on. In which case, I’m just going to have to join in… The whole shebang winds down around
8.30pm, and – after exchanging lots off hugs and kisses – I stagger off to
bed. Alone, for the record. There’s crap-all on TV, which may be reality’s
way of preparing me for a return to Melbourne and the humdrum of regular
life. It’s always this way after a con. I’m not sure what time I drift off to
sleep, but the next thing I know, it’s – Monday 21st Wake at 6am again. Bugger that for a
joke. I manage to roll over and force myself back to sleep, finally awaking
at the far more sensible hour of 9am. Shower, pack, then down for one final
luxurious hotel breakfast before I return to the monotony of Corn Flakes at
home. Afterwards, I head back to my room, grab my luggage (much lighter now
with the absence of so many copies of ‘Poo Person’ – DAMMIT GRANT!),
and go back down to the front desk to check out. The accommodation bill
hasn’t been paid yet, and the look the receptionist gives me suggests that
she thinks I’m going to do a runner. I call Ju’s room, and she explains to
the lady that while I am, in fact, a penniless bum, my accommodation will be
paid for when Ju checks out. Cool. I leave my luggage with the concierge, and
take a last walk around Perth. Back down to Hay Street to visit all
the funky shops again – 78 Records, Empire Toys, and the Millennium Medieval
Emporium (where I see a Muslim couple haggling over the price of a large
razor-edged sword). I also pop into Fantastic Planet to see Cathy, but she’s
not there. The guy behind the counter – typical of Perth folk – is extremely
nice, though, and promises to pass on my ‘Goodbye’ to her. As I walk back to
the hotel, I suddenly notice that my arms have tanned considerably from
several days’ worth of sunlit walks. I’ve also lost weight, my hitherto
tight-fit jeans beginning to droop down to expose a fair slice of plumbers’
crack. Odd, given the quality and quantity of the food I’ve been eating over
the past couple of days. Perth must be good for my health. I take time out to
sit in a small, shaded, leafy park, surrounded by beautiful cityscapes,
jotting down my recollections of the con in a notebook in preparation for
writing this report. 11.30am: Back to the hotel, where I
call Ju to see if she’s free to give me a lift out the airport. No problem.
She wants to know whether I’m free for a yum-cha lunch, as a group of
con-goers will be meeting at the local. Sure, I’m in. I wait for Ju to arrive, basking
shirtless in the midday sun in the small square outside the hotel,
occasionally wandering over to the fountain in the middle to cool myself off
in the spray. God, this is bliss! A few minutes into my topless sunbathing,
two cops stop by, a guy and a girl. If this were Sydney or Melbourne, they’d
be telling me to put my clothes back on, but it seems they just want to chat.
After a couple of minutes waffling with the girl (during which time the guy
says very little), I realise I’m being flirted with. God, I love this city!
Eventually the cops move on, and Ju and Jean-Paul roll in up in JP’s car.
“May I just be the first to say fwooar?” JP asks, as I struggle back
into my shirt. Too late, JP – the cops beat you to it. The others are already at the
restaurant by the time we turn up – Lyn, Sarah Greet, and Sarah Parker and
her hubby John. We all share a most enjoyable lunch before going our separate
ways, me promising to try to make it back to Perth in the not-too-distant
future. Ju and JP then drive me to the airport, where the three of us wait in
air-conditioned luxury until it’s time for me to board. I remember to hand
back the envelope of receipts to Ju, and also grab a copy of Worlds Apart
from my luggage to give to JP. And so I fly back to the humdrum,
passing the journey back by reading my copy of Never Seen By Waking Eyes.
It’s a fantastic read, and, somehow, a perfect end to possibly the best con
I’ve ever been to. Postscript: A few days after getting back, I
emailed the following to Ju. I still think it does as good a job of summing
up my feelings on the con as I could possibly express. Dear Ju, |
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