LonCon 3

A Worldcon, they say, is a microcosm of life ("they," in this case, being my good friend Iain.) Over the course of time, your memories collapse into each other, but you are nonetheless certain, that if you knew then what you know now, you would have done things differently. You would have followed your passions, been more adventurous, and not spent so much time queuing. Definitely not spent so much time queuing.

It must be said, the queue for registration, when David and myself stumbled onto the end nearest the light rail station on Thursday afternoon, was one of the best managed and generally genial I have ever experienced. I put this down to the fact that no one wanted to fall down the stairs, and you could spend the time gawking at other people's outfits and reading their T-shirts, before these all switched to what was available in the Dealer's Room.

It was when queues started forming for panels, in the carpeted desert between the Capital Suites, that it began to sink in what "biggest Worldcon on record" actually meant. The venue, London's Excel centre, was huge. Seriously, there was another Light Rail station at the other end. To reach the rooms set aside for writing workshops and advice sessions, I had to cross a space like an aircraft hanger, in which my footsteps echoed alarmingly for a good three minutes. CS 7 - 12 would have held the central quadrangle of my high school. But when the first real showstopper took place - I believe it was a discussion between George R. R. Martin and Connie Willis, moderated by Paul Cornell - the queue rapidly assumed alarming proportions. Shortly thereafter, fire marshalls began descending on panels and ordering anyone without a chair to leave. Thus, David missed out on "What's New In Maths?" and I was ejected from "Make My Book Y.A." The both of us, along with our good friends Rob and Cat, had to leave the Sherlock Holmes panel and ended up sitting in on another of Kim Stanley Robinson's. The man is a truly excellent speaker, but together with the reading and the lecture on pacing in the novel (taking in Virginia Woolfe and Olaf Stapleton), it was like we were stalking him.

The queue for processing successful bids in the Art Show auction was just brutal, and all I was carrying was a (very attractive) necklace (by Clare Boothby). Those who had taken the opportunity to snare an original of Autun Purser's wonderful vintage-style travel posters, for places such as Barsoom, Arrakis and the Plateau of Leng, really suffered. But, you know, for art.

The readings from Robinson and Mike Carey, the tourney conducted by the Society of Creative Anachronism and a glorious stint in the live sketching circle leavened panels on "Sexuality in Science Fiction and Fantasy", "Better Worldbuilding Through Poetry", the obligatory what's new in vampirism, and "How To Find An Agent" (the advice, attend kaffeklatches, came a little late.) I met my academic idol Dr. Farah Mendlesohn, fellow Stone Skin author Steve Dempsey, a giant stick insect, Batman, Thor, Link, Kaonashi from Spirited Away, the Sixth Doctor circa 1950's female (the tailoring in that dress! And how did she ever match the materials?), the Tardis circa 18th Century female (best I've ever seen, especially the POLICE BOX fan), Drizzt Do'Urden (still male, but such make-up!), and a lady with long, reddish-blonde hair in excellent Low Medieval (green linen dress and brown cape). Her face and breast had been raked with claws. When I asked her who she was, she asked if I was up to date with A Song of Ice and Fire. When I confessed I was not, she answered, "In that case, I'm a spoiler."

Other bon mots:

"It's our Genre and we're stuck with it." - James Patrick Kelly.

"Nobody's writing Science Fiction about problems we don't have yet." - Jennifer Stevenson.

"Part the Red Sea, indeed: it's an easy thing to do in Australia." - Ben Peek.

"If you can't believe in my horses, you will never believe in my dragons." - Robin Hobb.

"If it scares you, put fangs on it." - Kim Newman.

"You don't need an imagination to write about London. You just go ahead and mine it." - Suzanne McLeod.

One of the reasons David and I added the con to our already ambitious European itinerary was the realisation that we would be among friends. Outside of queues, I think that I spent the most time saying hello to fellow Australians. I actually picked up books from the Ticonderoga and Twelfth Planet stalls that I hadn't already purchased because I hadn't gone to the Natcon. Because I was coming here. That makes sense, doesn't it? The table at the GUFF auction groaned under the weight of diurse flavoured Tim Tams and more small press - this year's delegate, Gillian Pollack, had been dilligent. Ben Peek's schedule was pretty full, due to the presence of his new novel, The Godless, in all good bookstores, but we spent some quality time curmudgeoning in corners, and all I had to do to find Llyn was stand still for long enough gazing at a piece of jewellery or a small bronzework - we have notably similar tastes. Except in brooches.



Granted a tardis that wasn't made of fabric or plywood (finding a suitable opponent in the dalek constructed of coconut shells and wicker - the so-called "tiki dalek" on display in the dealers room), or just a better state of mind going in, I would have indeed done things differently. Why did I keep trying to get into panels, when I could have signed up for workshops and kaffeklatches? I know why I didn't bring any costumes, and that wouldn't change (although I'm sure wandering around Prague as an Edwardian Lady would be amusing): I would like to do a con is costume one of these days. But, as Iain said, that's life. You are aware of only a portion of the things going on around you, and can experience only a fraction of that. Then, before you know it, it's time to catch the train to Paris.

How on earth did I acculmulate all these shillings and pence? What do I do with them, and this Oyster card thingy?