From: phil.willis@almac.co.uk (PHIL WILLIS) Newsgroups: alt.fan.pratchett Subject: EVOLUTION Message-ID: <8BE5529.074E011F39.uuout@almac.co.uk> Date: Tue, 09 Apr 96 22:01:00 +0100 I'm typing this on Tuesday night just as the post-convention depression is starting. The weekend was almost definately one of the best I will ever have and I didn't want it to finish, apart from all the apfactivity detailed (or glossed over) below I managed to spend several hours being a floozie in the jacuzzi, several more hours reading slash, even more hours having entertaining (and usually x-rated) conversations and even some more hours playing with the chaos costuming - You too can make yourself a corset out of bin bags and gaffer tape :) Oh yes, and there were programme items too.... It all began way back on Friday with the official AFP meet (1) I turned up, as did ppint, Emmet, the Bellinghman, Colette, Mark (holyhorns) Lowes, Paul (custard) Rood, Karen, Richard Kettlewell and probably some other people, who I've either forgotten because of all the alcohol or missed because I left early. The meet was positioned in the real ale bar on the side of the pool and jacuzzi so it was a bit damp but with a good view. I'm sure there was some interesting conversation but I missed most of it and will leave it to someone else to tell all. Saturday passed in a haze of hangover, and slash and decadence and while I know I had a good time and saw various afp people from time to time I can't remember enough details for it to be worth typing about, having said that Saturday was also the day that I learned of the existence of a piece of erotic fiction (slash) featuring Death and the Librarian. I have since read the story and am still impressed by the incredible twistedness a mind must have to come up with such a thing, It's probably not suitable to post here but lets just say the Librarian is made to go Ook, ook, o-o-o-o-o-o-o-k! and Magrat really shouldn't be behaving like that without checking where Verence is :) - If anyone wants to read it I have the author's permission to pass it on so mail me for a copy. Sunday was more memorable. I managed to persuade Emmet and Karen that they should try bellydancing (2), and after watching the masquerade I had the pleasure of trying a couple of ppints interesting spirits and we formed what was probably the first (3) afp corridor party. We being ppint, Kenjo, the still charismatic but now rather drunk and much friendlier Emmet and me, plus some people I've forgotten and other various random fen(4). Much partying happened. Monday, was a lot like Sunday once again featuring ppint and his interesting spirits, Kenjo and the very tactile Emmet but this time without the masquerade, corridors or belly dancing although we did get to see Gordon T Gopher come close to drowning in the Jacuzzi. Alt.Fan.Emmet now has most of a FAQ and it has been conclusively proved (to me at least) that unlike Pterry's suggestions to the contrary, encountering Emmet's chrisma (5) is probably the most fun you can have with your clothes on (7). Carol (1) Well actually it had begun earlier as we'd sort of met while checking in or wandering around the convention. (2) Photos will be available later (3) and after the hotel staff/woman with a migraine made us move on also the second, third, fourth and fifth corridor partys (4) The Bellinghman and Collette had left earlier and the rest of the DWCon committee present had already gone to bed (5) And pheromones of course (6) (6) Even his handwriting is alleged to have pheromones (6) Although until proved otherwise we can still assume that writing is the most fun you can with your clothes *and glasses* on (7) ppint may well have the pphotos to pprove this but I kind of hope not --- * SLMR 2.1a * Ook, Oook, O-O-O-O-ooo-OOOO-ook! Newsgroups: alt.fan.pratchett From: eaobrien@ebi.ac.uk (Emmet O'Brien) Subject: *F* dis Concerting - the Evolution report Sender: news@ebi.ac.uk (Mr news) Message-ID: <Dpov3K.BoG@ebi.ac.uk> Date: Thu, 11 Apr 1996 08:18:56 GMT Hello, and welcome to another one of _those_ reports. I suppose the Fates deliberately set out to compensate for the moments of surreal description in some of my previous reports by providing an experience that would surpass them in surrealism even if delivered in a completely neutral and objective tone. [ No Norn Regime comments, Duncan, please.. ] The subject is Evolution, this year's Eastercon, located in the Radisson Edwardian hotel near Heathrow. Theories advanced over the convention included that it had been designed by Escher and that it was inherently organic - whatever the cause, it was the most successful instantiation of the "you are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike" school of architecture I have ever encountered. All gratitude to the kenjo for organising the tricky bits such as rooms. Your humble narrator made his arrival on the late morning of the Friday, to be met, among others, by ppint, Duncan of Duncans, and, in passing, a certain Ms. Willis to whom we shall return. Allegedly the Friday was the formal afpmeet, though even with the Bellinghman's increasingly sophisticated criteria we hovered into and out of quoratitude for much of the weekend. Topics of conversation have fled my rapidly decaying brain, 'cept I seem to remember lots and lots of people with those damnable Psion things taking quotes at a rapid rate. I shall leave the filling in of the grislier details unto them. And there was evening and there was morning, and there was a mother of a hangover. Which did fortunately disperse in plenty of time to permit your humble narrator to rejoin the human race on Saturday, though exhaustion occasioned an earlier retreat. Somewhere among the haze was the first case of Unseen University Challenge, at which yhn, the Bellinghman and a strange hippy won a close and hardfought victory over the Goddess, a friend of Karen K by name Richard and a man in purple. It is quite astounding the things one actually remembers.. it was an intimation of things to come. All of us won chocolate orangs, were more or less insulting to Paul - about which, phrases involving barrels and fish spring to mind - and a splendid time was had by all. Heartiest salutations and thanks to the organisers thereof. There were two strange women fighting in the audience, but they were given a chocolate orang too. It was at this point that a small bottle of clear fluid was produced by ppint. Tasting such bottles, I have concluded, without some intimation as to their contents, is on a par with starting a land war in Asia in the wisdom stakes. This one was quite pleasant, if very intense, garlic vodka. Sunday began with an intimation of things to come: the discovery of the existence of Leningrad Cowboy beer. By dint of asking politely, a full can was obtained by yhn, and currently resides somewhere as yet unpacked. An interesting conversation with Roz Kaveney[sp?], bordering on relevance because of her association with Neil Gaiman and because it included a casting thread, though not a Pterry one, eventually degenerated into lightbulb jokes. Everybody read her stuff. Also on that day, an excited Carol waved some paper at me as I was entering a lift, claiming it was DW fanfic I should read. I undertook to get back to this, but as circumstances would have it was unable to do so. Also during the day, several badges crafted by the estimable ppint made their appearance, including one defining decadence as the finest flowering of civilisation worn with pride by yhn, and one reading "Chocolate Addict". Need anyone ask for whom that was ? Later in the day, I was inveigled into a belly-dancing workshop by Ms. Willis, and discovered ways I had never thought I could move my ribcage. Subsequently, Ms. Kruzycka's insufficient flexibility turned out to be very straightforwardly modifiable, and it is to be hoped that our esteemed chairman will take the simplicity and effectiveness of the procedure into account and acquire the necessary skills forthwith. We also discovered that not only is he very easy to insult, he is very easy to weird out. Which was _fun_. My denials that Colm and I are the same person were met with some polite disbelief. In later hours, yhn became quite pleasantly inebriated, and was accused of having pheromones. It seems that the absence of a format for encoding such cues alongside visual images and audio files has lead to much of the renowned charisma being filtered out in the more virtual forms of interaction. This was also the evening of the incredible migrating corridor party, which vacillated between several locations, almost all of which were completely identical. During which my memory is just a little hazy, but I can recall Jo of kenjo being very responsible about my inebriated state and staying up and partying for an extra _two and a half hours_ to be responsible. There were Croatians, wood alcohol and ballroom dancing to "The Final Countdown" afoot elsewhere in the building, leading to the misapprehension that I was hallucinating. The only other afper a persistent part of the migrating party was Carol, but she demonstrated a level of hospitability and friendliness sufficient to do the whole committee proud. It was at some point during this time that an attempt was made by yhn to read aforementioned fanfic, but it had to be cancelled when it proved impossible to bear the beginnings of sentences in mind for long enough to finish them. Monday dawned with that indefinable feel that the last day of a con can have when most people have gone home or are going home, and conversations don't last, but made quite a happy recovery later in the day as a combined room party and alt.fan.emmet conceptual launch party proved most enjoyable. At which I thoroughly made friends with Carol, lest there had been any doubt, to the extent that the kenjo discreetly left for a while, the Duncan read a Robert Holdstock with _palpable_ concentration, and ppint took photographs. One hastens to add at this point that participants remained fully clad, though it has been claimed that removal of glasses on my behalf is on a par with complete disrobing carried out by others in seriousness of intent. Evidence countering Pterry's dictum that writing is the most fun one can have with one's clothes on was collected, and has been preserved on film. Given the distracted nature of yhn at the time, it is devoutly to be hoped that said images receive a preliminary vetting before wider distribution, as it is conceivable that some may be deemed in contravention of taste and decency, and one was overly distracted to apply serious thought to deeming at the time. Later, debate occurred about alt.fan.emmet, whether the volume justified rec.arts.emmet or a split into alt.fan.emmet.mind and alt.fan.emmet.body, and lots of other ego-boosting things. If one construes the debate and the party as co-existent, it could be claimed that the party lasted until c. 9 am Tuesday, but that everyone fell asleep for several hours in the middle. On the other hand, the image of a convention fading out into darkness and dulcet snorings may be an aesthetically suitable point at which to stop. Gap-fillings in are as ever welcome. It is quite beyond my capacities to remember all of who was there when and so forth as I usually strive to at such events, and I do recall Mark Lowes promising to unleash all the quotes made by various luminaries during the event in his presence. Emmet -- Curried strawberries are strange.
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