Conventions: 2014.

 After the walkabout I had a few weeks break, then I went and partied in London. And what a party it was.

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The biggest science fiction convention ever! And I was taking one of my planets there, one of the ‘ExoEarths.’ a 2ft diameter model of an Earthlike planet. An old one in this case for the continents were more regular in shape indicating an older geology, like Africa and Australia. I’d laid a van on for it and was to travel up with the driver, whom I’d previously worked with, taking models to a science centre near Winchester. I had taken this planet up on the train to London but I was going on to Dublin after the convention and needed someone to take it home. Just as well I was taking him up to London, for the convention location looked a muddle on the map.

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It was a good well organised trip on a sunny day. Journeying to a city too, in the 21st century – or 2014 anyway – can be a visual adventure. The cluster of high rises on the horizon nowadays can hint at science fiction and momentous things about to happen. Welcome to the future. It might not be one of manned space rockets, planets colonised and mankind looked after by robots. Residential architecture might be rubbish representations of twee England that has enslaved the population. However;- the solar system had been explored since my 1950’s childhood, there’d been a revolution in computer technology and commercial architecture was enterprising enough in style to be futuristic. To begin to take on the same kind of look as architecture found on SF book covers. That and the more streamlined cars and highways looked not too unlike the future imagined in the 1950’s.

Before the fun could start though there was the challenge of getting the globe into the Art Show within The Excel Centre. A building of a mile long. A tough nut for navigation. A tangle of roads led us to a parallel street to the one we wanted and we finally got to the wrong end of the centre of course! Refurbishments – always handy when you need to get to somewhere – had partially obstructed the access road and put the driver off going any further. Much later internet research revealed that this centre has had serious access problems!

I kept my cool because the refurbishments weren’t barring me from the centre itself, up a flight of steps on a higher level. Also my planet was light enough to carry and my only luggage was a backpack. Only problem was the planet was big enough to put a strain on one’s arms carrying it for any distance and once I was inside this vast exhibition hall complex its concourse stretched before me, down the length of the building to vanishing point.

No problem actually. My planet was in bubblewrap and I’d rolled it before in that. Yes, actually rolling it along the ground! One one occasion through Reading confusing a policewoman. This time it would be a floor, which would be easier, also it was deserted, so there was no one to wonder if I was a lunatic? Until I reached the other end where the SF fans were supposed to be, who could take this sort of thing more in their stride. So off I rolled it past occasional closed cafe’s and fast food outlets with large deserted seating areas, down the long echoing expanses.

It was the day before the whole thing really started but convention staff were here plus a handful of fans wanting to beat the rush and people like me wanting to set up. Gradually I was reaching inhabited regions: better lighting and a few people. Then a few people scruffily or unusually dressed. Science fiction fans. I was entering friendly territory. Well mostly anyway. Their numbers increased the further one went and eventually I found the right info. The Art Show was back aways through a narrow entrance. I’d rolled my globe for a distance not much shorter than the length of the building.

There was another huge space as big and high as an aircraft hangar on the other side of the entrance and a short corridor. Within it was the Art Show area. As soon as I got there they knew who I was and it was easy enough setting up. While there I started meeting people I knew. My Health and Safety friend from the local SF group confirmed with news of growing numbers that this was about to be the biggest convention ever. He was one of the staff and would be working throughout the convention. Some people are happier doing that and it was the kind of event where one should be ‘doing one’s own thing.’ There was too a well known artist whom I’d socialised with at previous ‘cons’ (SF fans jargon for conventions) and kept in touch with on Facebook. And another artist I hadn’t seen for nearly 20 years! That was a happy reunion with advice about art materials.

It was going to be a recurring theme at this convention: running into people not seen for decades. After setting up and registering at the convention – easy to do with not many people around – I had time to relax with a bite at one of the eateries just opened up. While I was perusing the con literature there a vaguely familiar looking woman came by, stopped and recognised me. A creative comical friendly lady I’d regretted losing touch with since 2001! She joined me for another joyful reunion. I was rapidly gaining a good feeling about this convention. Later we went to the exhibits area where she was also setting up some of her videos; though not without problems since staff were letting her down.

Early on in this convention I would be running into a guy I hadn’t seen since the last millenium and a lady I hadn’t seen since 1987! It would get better and better all the time.

Explorations of this vast place revealed the Art Show to be next to the Dealers area – books trinkets and so on – and Exhibits;- which could exhibit anything from wild and wacky ideas to established organisations like the British Interplanetary Society. This whole massive floor overlooked the ‘Fan Room’ – or rather hall – on a lower level. As did the concourse and a way to Docklands Light Railway. Here was at least one obligatory bar, fast food snack area, seating and chill out areas and marquees going up for promotions and fannish stuff. Later I realised that there was even a Tardis in there. The programming areas – for panels and discussions of anything remotely SF related – seemed to be around the back of the Fan Hall and on the upmost level above Operations and the Green Room, which had taken over an eyrie overlooking the concourse. Last but not least the opening ceremony and maybe a few films would take place in a huge hall on the other side of the concourse.

The first night here I would be staying with the same invalid I stayed with before did the sponsored walk 2 years ago from London to Chichester. Right out in Stanmore on the NW edge of London. Time for the light railway, tube and hike to his place.

Coming in on the morning Docklands Light Railway train were other fans heading for the convention, including a few Polish girls who were interested with my visit to Poland last year, until I mentioned Auschwitz. I didn’t blame them. Although it wasn’t my idea to go there it still put me into the disaster tourist category rather than someone genuinly interested in their country.

They were in for a long wait. Which was minor compared to those arriving later. The registration queue grew to an unbelievable length. Thank God I’d got here yesterday!

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Time to check in to a Travelodge on the other side of the dock by which the centre was situated. Or so I hoped. One could see the true scale and setting of the venue at the opposite end to from where I’d rolled by ExoEarth. A broad car park/plaza flanked by ornamental trees and a few hotels. And the expanse of Royal Victoria Dock. A flyover crossed it with a walkway under the road and I was able to look down the dock’s rectilinear length towards the Canary Wharf cluster of high rises and the City of London. Planes took off overhead down the dock’s length from London City Airport on the other side of the flyover, into a sky which would be mostly stormy throughout the convention. That didn’t stop canoing and other recreational stuff happening on what had become a man made lake. All it needed now was some wildlife.

On the other side was a tall sculpture of what looked like a silver naked lady with no face, legs leaning forwards but body backwards with upthrust arms, celebrating the airport it seemed, from the centre of a roundabout.

Then there was the Travelodge. I was too early after all. I’d have to insert myself in there that afternoon.

Memories of the first few days:-

Participating in my first programme panel. If I’m lucky I get invited to them and I had a fair number at this convention. I love the think tank style exchange of ideas and growth of knowledge, with fellow enthusiasts, some of whom are scientists. I love being treated on an equal basis with them to put it honestly, despite certain lowly aspects of my life. Ric was there. My Jewish friend in the local SF group who’d advised me on Auschwitz. He said I held my own well with them. As it turned out this was going to be a convention for compliments too.

Ric was also staying at the Travelodge and we occasionally had breakfast together when the degree of severity of ‘the night before’ allowed that synchronisation. Other notables were Dave – the Irish SF fan who’d been with us at the Kiev Eurocon and whom I knew well anyway – and the Science Fiction Collections Librarian for the SF archives at Liverpool University. He was also someone I hadn’t seen for a long time and it was good to meet up because I’d made out in my Will that the SF Liverpool Uni. archives were to be the home for my planets.

One of the programme events I went to was more of a tour, around a certain model in the exhibits hall, with eye catching out of scale incomprehensibly interesting structures. An architect from Greenwich University had led this futuristic project and thought architecture ought to be more represented in Science Fiction. I agreed. Much SF dealt with social trends and civilisation which would include urban environments, which must include architecture. Apart from that a lot of SF art involved futuristic cities and those in the western world were beginning to take on some aspects of science fiction.

There was more to this last one. The architect was a science fiction fan. His project was a cross between a conurbation and theme park. Within it one could design and act out one’s fantasies apparently. Whether one was underground or within the weird structures depicted by the students, some of which looked organic. They were, he assured me! He also hailed from the Essex side of the Thames estuary where his conurbation was set, naming it so the initials matched those of the city sized spaceships a favourite SF author. It was the same length too. Nobody else in his architectural circle had appreciated this and one reason he was at the convention was to mix with people who would.

But what about ‘we’ve all gotta have somewhere to live?’ The demands of the mundane world of the daily grind to pay the mortgage on some subsized architectually backward looking box? His project was to be realised in the post commodified era. ‘Commodified’ – the demands of commercial market forces – was a word he often used in a dismissive fashion. I liked his style. If only it was as easy to change the status quo as it was to dream up something like this! One reason it wasn’t – he told me – was major developers keeping prices artificially high by ‘land banks:’ reserves of bought land which would only be built on when there was a sufficient housng shortage to raise prices. Just when I think I can’t find another reason to loathe the world of residential property along comes another one I can add to my armory. This was one reason I went to conventions: information one might not find elsewhere.

There was another architect at his show whom I wowed with my planets, apart from discussing all this: an attractive girl in her twenties who really did look as though she was still in 6th form. She ran her own company. Another aspect of this convention was that it turned out to be a happy hunting ground for chatting up the fairer sex. I prefer to call it conversation.

I wished life was like this most of the time: the money somehow never running out during a freeform existence mixing with interesting stimulating people, for many of the more imaginative in Britain were here. From aged authors and scientists to precocious children, any one of which could be a future genius. With the odd alien thrown in, (yes I know it’s fancy dress but it’s well done here.) I even saw a sentient machine: what looked like a pole on wheels with a TV screen on top sporting a face. Apparently someone far removed was exploring this event by remote control.

What with that and people doing their own thing; whether it be socialising, working hard, debating, playing, wandering, drinking. With a glowing blue drone under unseen control flitting and swooping over this scene. It reminded me of the SF series involving those miles long spaceships. Our gathering could have been part of his civilisation, albeit in one of the smallest ships he’d referred to.

There was more programming for me. Dougal Dixon – an Earth Sciences author – had proposed we play drunken colonists explaining the colonial history of ‘Greenworld:’ a planet he’d devised and I’d ‘built’ so to speak.

Thus arose what was one of the best Saturday nights I’ve known. Maybe the best!

It began with a party in an adjacent hotel. A friend who ran a satellite company held these champagne ones and at this party there was not only a woman whose paintings were fantastic displays of light and darkness (she wore thigh high boots too) but the last ‘Hero of the Soviet Union.’ Da! He’d commanded the Mir Space Station in the last days of the Soviet Union which made him their last hero. As if that wasn’t enough there was another astronaut there under his command on the station: a woman I’d met years ago – like others at this convention – who recognised me and was convivial. To the extent of assuring me that if I could walk 65 miles for my school when I was 64 I was still fit enough to be an astronaut!


I mean;- I know I’d said that if John Glenn could do it at 70 then I still could but – to be honest – I just thought I was talking bollocks really. Until I got the most mindblowing compliment of my life!

Obviously this once in a lifetime party would have been enough for the night as far as I was concerned but – unbelievably – I had to leave it in order to get down to where Dougal was. It all happens at once.

Yet more unique fun. We were well on form with a good audience. I was really enjoying the part. Dougal’s Greenworld on which the play was set was named that way not because of its colour – the vegetation was red – but because of green issues arising out of colonisation of the planet by the human race and I was happy to play along with this theme – in the form of a drunken colonist – in raising people’s awareness. If there’s reincarnation I could do worse that wind up in a bar on another planet.

Back in the Fan Hall the boozing was well under way and the South Hampshire Science Fiction Group were there in full force. When I eventually joined them I mentioned the astronaut compliment, still spaced out. A friendly rival I sometimes wound up unintentionally proposed a fund for me:- “LSDIS: Let’s Send Dave Into Space!” A massed drunken cheer greeted this! Including mine with beer bottle held high for it was a magic moment. “I know it would suit you but it was very well done, very well done.” I assured him.

So well oiled I became that I euphorically assured another friend that I would be with my planets at midday tomorrow to meet someone he knew who was interested in them. Then totally forgot all about it to my chagrin. Something I have never done before in my life.

The convention carried on and there were more alcoholic get togethers. There was that meal where I rejoined the astronauts party; the last hero of the Soviet Union looking prominent by being the best dressed of us in his suit and tie. T shirts were more the norm at an SF convention. I – among others – was allowed to hold his gold medal. Heavy.

Later he was honoured in one of the big halls where he talked about the Mir Space Station in Russian, with the help of with a young interpreter I’d known from News Years Day do’s at my satellite friend’s place. I was in the front row with them.

Dougal held a liquid lunch for those who’d worked on Greenworld. I met the artist who’d illustrated the truly alien lifeforms Dougal had created. By then Dougal and I had laid on another simulated bar session. One of those problem child geniuses I’d briefly mentioned earlier asked some tricky questions, putting Dougal on the spot. I didn’t help matters by being amused. All good clean fun. Especially as I felt that this was the spirit of youthful enquiry at its best.

I was still able to help Dougal for I met a German woman in the Art Show – a publisher or agent – who took a professional interest in Dougal’s work and wanted to know if he was interested in ‘expanding into Europe’ so to speak. I’d no idea as to his commitments but there was a fair chance he’d be interested and told her that certainly they must meet. When I got this info to him he became excited. It seemed that – as my luck would have it – this was just the sort of thing he was after. It was that sort of convention.

There was a show on the life of John Wyndham. The first paperback SF book I’d read was ‘The Day of the Triffids’ after waiting for my father to get through it on holiday in Cornwall. It was extraordinary how a man with that intellect continued to lead a somewhat Spartan little travelled existence even after his books brought him considerable wealth. Then there are those who are super rich. Maybe we get a reverse status quo in a parallel Universe. Maybe that’s one appeal of them.

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There were good times in the Fan Hall. Dougal had held his liquid lunch there. Ric and I photographed each other coming out of the Tardis. Children colonised a large open space with cushions and one crawled around under a cardboard box like a tortoise. The spirit caught on with bubblewrap: when a swathe of it was jumped on by the kids to make it pop one of my friends joined in. To give support for arrested development so did I.

My involvement in programming and the Fan Hall went on until the last day. A vivacious girl I’d corresponded with helped me lay on a planetbuilding workshop for those child geniuses and a few arrested development adults in a marquee in the Fan Hall. She said I was fantastic after the do.

I rolled my bubblewrapped planet back down the length of the building to my rendevous point with my driver, where I intrigued a watchful child with my antics. He turned up, luckily for me.

It must have been a great convention. I felt really good despite not selling anything.

That was Loncon 3. What followed that was a tour of TV locations in London run by my friend Dave, the Irish SF fan. There were only 3 of us actually wandering around, much of the time on foot. Highlights for me included:-

Steed’s place (The Avengers) which was near the BBC.

Outside the BBC was a picket. It seemed demonstrations went unreported these days. ‘Safety before profits’ proclaimed one of the banners. In the opposite direction were sartorially dressed gentlemen and an opulent car outside a club. I doubted these two groups ever listened to each other.

The Regent Street Polytechnic. This had nothing to do with the tour. We passed it by chance and I had time to tell the receptionist within that my father had studied architecture there.

The subway passage Patrick McGoohan (The Prisoner) stormed though on his way to resign. One got the impression it was under the Houses of Parliament. It was actually at Hyde Park. Parts of that subway complex were an abode for Eastern Europeans down on their luck.

The home of ‘The Prisoner,’ where he was gassed, later to wake up in ‘the Village.’ It was in Westminster. Unfortunately the block it was in was covered in scaffolding ruining the photograph I would have taken. Refurbishments.

Just round the corner in a front garden was a strange metal sculpture based on a plant. Looked like a sunflower.

More strangeness followed after a pleasant spell at a pub. When we reached Westminster Bridge the 3rd member of our party just wandered off and wasn’t seen again.

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At sunset Dave and I reached Leadenhall Market where I captured that on my camera; along with The Gherkin, the Thames at sunset and Tower Bridge at night. The bridge I was on gave good solid support for the camera, so the photos were clear of camera shake.

Dave called his tour a convention: a small travelling one as it were. There was another I was about to go to though. In Dave’s country. The European SF convention in Dublin, Ireland.

I had a day between my last night at the Travelodge and Victoria Coach Station. Luckily there was something interesting on at The National Theatre, South Bank: Love! Something of an exhibition of it. Erections dare I say it;– of gaily coloured words describing all aspects of love at the front of the theatre, exhibits and workshops within. Of course none of the workshops coincided with my movements or ability to get there and it all seemed a one off unfortunately. It was heartening though, compared to the usual rubbish choice of Sun newspaper ‘are you getting it every day’ culture, computer dating agencies everywhere like flies on dung and political correctness zealously imposing a climate of fear. I hoped the alternative on the South Bank was the start of a trend.

Lucky I was going on the journey to Ireland journey in summer. It took a long time to get out of London so I was surprised it was still daylight when the coach had gained full speed on the M1.

It was still daylight – just – when wind farms in the Midlands could be seen from the coach. They’ve been described as eyesores but were photogenic at dusk and a visual welcome to the 21st century. Let’s hope a lucky shot I took across the coach while on the move is not the sunset of mankind. Their energy contributions have been questioned and their size might indicate it’s a case of the government being seen to do the right thing rather than pull out all the stops for the best energy option. I’m in favour of solar power now and maybe fusion power later.

Nightfall covered a stop at a motorway station and the route along the North Wales coast. One could tell it was there by the way the masses of town lights ended at a clear border with a black void beyond.

At Holyhead there was the usual organised muddle of customs, under the stark lighting one gets in places like this at night. Not something to look forward to when one’s semi conscious after a long coach ride.

Finally the ferry. It was massive. That didn’t stop all the long seats being comandeered by temporary adult corpses trying to forget about the rest of the night by sleeping. Otherwise the passenger deck became largely governed by children who seemed to have their seat of power in the amusement arcade and gain their power from it, having more energy than those adults still on their feet. Kiddies weren’t allowed on the outer deck though which was the domain of cold gales, darkness and cigarette smokers.

There was a cinema. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes took me away from it all nicely.

Dawn came up when we reached Dublin. I could see the coast unfolding in the early half light and even the Wicklow Mountains. I’d never been to Ireland before.

I’d been saving Ireland until I was old and decrepit because it was so close and easy to get around. Now because of SF conventions I was getting there earlier in a slightly better state. Maybe just as well. The ferry docked early enough for – after a ride through a desert of dockland – everyone to be deposited at the coach station at dawn, with the morning to get through before I could check in to a boarding house I’d booked just south of the centre.

I was right in the centre of Dublin. There was an official looking building with a dome: The Custom House. There was the Liffey which cut a straightish course through the centre, widening past the docks into the harbour and a bay between headlands. My first sight of Ireland.

I crossed a bridge to the south. Was anything open? I had all morning to kill. There were a few massive piles of buildings which appeared to be museums. Also a park. Places were opening up and I had enough time to have breakfast twice at 2 of them. South Dublin was as urban as south London but somehow less tatty and fraught; with plenty of places to eat and drink.

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There was a park I wandered around. Quiet with ornamental trees and small lake. Perfect for a morning run and a runner passed me as I sat on a park bench checking the map.

A canal marked the southern edge of the centre. I still had to kill time and found another park with a tramp in it; on the run from another tramp or official, apparently. Overcome that this was my first morning in Ireland after a sleepless night he offered me a piece of cardboard, to rest my head on a seat. A comical but touching gesture. At the risk of stereotyping it seemed to me to be a classic Irish experience. This short stay was to give me a very limited experience of Ireland but while there I found there seemed to be a certain sense of kindness less common in England.

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The boarding house was in a leafy suburban neighbourhood. My room was at the top. Quite a climb but with a good view through a sash window and a small TV on top of a wardrobe.

It was on a parallel road to the one the convention hotel was across. It took only a few minutes to get there as long as one was careful for the hotel road was one of the main routes out of the city to the south. Another thing to watch out for was bicycles. There seemed to be a lot of them travelling at speed and the only reason I didn’t have a happy accident with one girl was her quick reflexes.

The convention was nice enough and well run. People were friendly, there was a really good Art Show, programme panels a few of which I was on, meals out with friends, Dave was there and met his family in the bar. There was plenty of alcohol of course, especially on Saturday night when future conventions were vying for popularity. Dublin was making a bid for a world SF convention in 2019 which I supported. It would be a good start or end to a more thorough exploration of Ireland.

Loncon 3 though was a tough act to follow. The one in Dublin just wasn’t as memorable and it must have been due to that, or convention fatigue on my part. Definitely wasn’t the convention itself which was still a good one to party at.

The real trouble for me was trying to go home.

It was pouring with rain. The sort of rain that’s not a heavy downpour and then it’s done, or a soft refreshing shower, both of which I actually like, but the sort of soaking rain that persists under relentless cloud all day.

The bus station was well within reach of where I was. Unless the weather’s like this. I wound up having to make 3 return trips to it that day! Luckily departure was not until the evening. Why did this happen? My paperwork was not in order.

I kept being turned away by a girl who looked like a school leaver. Who seemed to have forgotten her Irish roots in her dedication to becoming a company official: dead to all concerns apart from the rules and regulations of the company making money. It was then I learned that company officials can be crap regardless of what country one happens to be in; can mushroom a manufactured problem into the main purpose of a journey – sorting out that problem – rather than the minor detail it should be. The volume of explanation here indicates the expanding complicating quality of this sort of event.

Okay so it was carelessness on my part. Officials though often seem to forget common sense. The price on the paperwork I had was proof I’d bought the ticket, a man from the rear decided after the 3rd trip, making me feel a fool for not spotting that during 3 in and out trips – mostly walking – in the rain. Like a punishment I’d reached the end of because letting me go on the basis of price was the only way to get rid of me. By that time I was soaked through, which didn’t help a bug I’d somehow picked up at the end of the convention.

Yup. I was ill too and had been exposed to the perfect weather for it. That’s what I meant about the girl – I grew to hate – forgetting her Irish roots: kindness anyway. To the point of being deaf, dumb and blind to the fact I felt really ill, repeatedly pointed out to her. ‘Customer relations’ were also overlooked. If enough company officials ignore that concern customers should go elsewhere and – hopefully – the company will do badly to the point of the officials being out of a job.

I was so relieved it was finally over that I celebrated with a drink or two on the way back to my digs although I felt like crap. That didn’t stop the landlady offering a free extension on the room for the day although I’d been obliged to involve her daughter in helping me with fruitless phone calls arising from this crisis. More Irish kindness that might have been a real lifesaver in this case.

The nap I had during the afternoon just about fortified me for the journey. Then I was befriended at the bus station by a woman who was concerned about my coughing and shallowness of breathing. She was English but had lived in the middle of Ireland for some time, adapting to the finer points of the way of life here, it seemed.

There was a fantastic sunset over Dublin as the ferry sailed off from Ireland into the night. The photos I took of that though were so affected by camera shake and the state I was in that they were better described as abstract works of art. The night journey was probably worse on the coach but it was mostly hell and purgatory anyway. The kindness of my newly acquired lady stranger friend was there though and dawn over the wind farms of central England signalled much of the journey had passed into my personal history, lifting me to a better circle of hell.

We said goodbye at Victoria Coach Station and she tried to shake my hand but because of my bug I wanted to spare her that. So she became – she had my card – one of those met on my travels I haven’t heard from again but would like to.

Breakfast at Waterloo Station.  A view of the station with its rush hour commuters with the final leg of the journey to follow actually made me feel good, morale wise anyway, although my physical state continued to be crap.  Th final train journey down to Portsmouth was another improvement.

Then luckily I was able to hole up in my home for several days before school started and my job ferrying kids to and from it commenced. Time enough to recover.

So what sort of trip had it been? The biggest party of my life with the most mindblowing compliment. 12 days of high class fun more or less with a few days of humiliation hell and purgatory at the end. 12 days good to 2 bad. Pretty good trade off really!

© D. Angus 02 15

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