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Evolution: Report

Message-ID: <>
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).


(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
 * SLMR 2.1a * Ook, Oook, O-O-O-O-ooo-OOOO-ook!

From: (Emmet O'Brien)
Subject: *F* dis Concerting - the Evolution report
Sender: (Mr news)
Message-ID: <>
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 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, whether the volume justified 
 rec.arts.emmet or a split into and, 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.

 Curried strawberries are strange.

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