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Bristol 1.0: Report

From: Rob Cotterill <>
Subject: *f* Bristol 1.0
Message-ID: <>
Date: Mon, 16 Sep 1996 12:15:03 GMT

Hi guys!

This is NOT the meet report for Bristol 1.0, but I will say that I
thought it went rather well, forteen of us met in a location which, with
the best will in the world could not be said to be on most folk's easy
travelling routes.  But I live there, so I think it's just fine.

Anyway, the point of this posting is that someone left a rather nice
camera in my house.  Now, I could do with a new camera but feel honour
bound to point out that it is in my posession.  If nobody claims it...  

I think Helen is going to produce the full report, so just remember to
ignore anything she says about me.

Rob (the ergonomist).

From: (Helen Highwater)
Subject: *F* Bristol: Helen's Version
Message-ID: <>
Date: Mon, 16 Sep 96 21:44:38 GMT

AFP, this herewith is the chronicle of me, Helen Highwater.

Bright was the morning^H^H^H^H^H^H^Hevening and high ovr hearts when
we proceeded to the Eastfield Inn where events eventuated as I shall
now sing.

Rob and Claire-Louise and Tim and I arrived to find David Z and Tom
(tackline) demonstrating the free-spiritedness that is such a
hallmark of afpers -- sitting in the wrong bar.  We moved into the
other one whilst Rob (whose local it was (until last night)) was
accosted by a friend asking if he'd been to the Pratchett event in

What did we miss???

Anticipating further arrivals, we colonised three tables and blocked
the exit to the garden.  Photos of the Con were shown (mine:  I was
too disorganised to have them for Ealing).  Ydris (who is called
David, only not by me 'cos there's too many of them about) arrived.
Both he and David Z declined to say the Lll word.  Further arrivals 
were: Alan and Colette; Darrell, Kitten and Matt; and Watha.  This
meant there were thirteen at the table and, if Agatha can be believed,
the first one to stand up was going to die.  Tom volunteered, to
demonstrate his disregard for a superstition he'd never heard of.  He
then disappeared without trace[1].  His heroic sacrifice proved 
unnecessary when the arrival of ppint made us fourteen.

If anyone else was there, they remained lurking.

There were, however, sufficient cuddly toys to fill a conveyor belt:
Lord Philanthropic III, Mr Fox, Dinolush, and the Seal of Approval[2]
most of whom behaved disgracefully and were duly photographed in the
sort of compromising positions one tends to associate with Emmet.

A drinks kitty was established and the difficulties of taking an 
order for fourteen became obvious, leading to the first quote: "Has
anyone got anything as primitive as a pen?"[3].  The difficulty was
presumably overcome as drinks kept arriving.  Alan ordered Guinness
shandy, thus keeping one of barmen occupied for the rest of the
evening.  It was suggested that on future rounds he might make do
with a bottle of Guinness and a bottle of lemonade and sip them

I'm fairly sure we didn't sit in stony silence for two and a half
hours but when I was making notes for this report, the morning 
after, very few people would contribute.  Too discreet, perhaps, or 
engaged in private worship of the oh god of Hangovers.  AFAICR - no
guarantees as to the order of occurrence - Alan cannibalised his
Psion to use the batteries in his flash (an undocumented feature); 
Rob tried to get a photo of Kitten (she'd had a visit from Dragon,
King of Arms); ppint was blowing yellow bubbles made from some
banned solvent and we patted them about until one fused to a bulb
in the chandelier, turning it yellow[4]; someone at the far end of
the table (possibly Tom) was juggling and someone else was 
demonstrating gravity by throwing all the balls in the air and not
catching them; there was a chocolate taste test, if there was a
verdict I didn't hear it; chocolate-covered coffee beans were
produced at this stage.  Watha made us jealous with his Magic
Roundabout Noisy Book.  Alan produced an AOL business card.

Conversations included the monarchy (should they all be given
diplomatic immunity and left to get on with it? Would a country of 
sadists choose a sadist or a masochist as their king?), the 
mile-high club, the seven-mile-hight club and the mile-low club,
religion (and whether anyone who got it should be shot), why David
Eddings should never write another book, cats and the naming of
cats, people's first time at a afp gathering, bugs in Solaris, and
whose turn it was to go to the bar.

  "Most of the physiotherapists I know would say, 'I AM God - WALK!"
  "I can't help it if I turn men into quivering heaps of jelly"

  "Be nice 'cos I'm not" (Helen)

  "Ooh, Red Things! I don't know what it is, but I'm going to have
  a Red Thing" (Ydris)

  "Why has this hobgoblin got a handle?"[5] (Darrell)

  "It'll *never* make sense if we try to *explain* it!" (Kitten)

  "Then we had to do it again because the flash didn't work"
  (Colette on signing leather mini-skirts)

  "I don't like children."  
  "Not even dipped in chocolate?"
  "Crunchy Sprog? But everyone will assume it's some kind of mock
  sprog" (Helen and Claire-Louise)
When chucking-out time came, there was still thirty quid in the
kitty, (amazing, innit - I suggest an earlier start next time:) )
which we decided to donate to the Convention charities[6] so I
secreted it for safe keeping.  Then everyone adjourned to Rob's,
conveniently situated *very* close to the pub, and watched a video
of the Convention whereupon several people made their excuses and
left, and the remainder were subjected to the contents of ppint's
chemistry set and that's why there are four 'and's[7] in this 
sentence.  There was other entertainment but only four hundred
words at a time and everybody voluntarily deleted their memory of
whatever it was.  

And so to bed.  Beds.  Many separate beds.

ppint was awake, bright and breezy at eight o'clock[9] the 
following morning but was unable to persuade anyone to start the
day with a nourishing drink.

Here endeth my tale.  Thanks to Rob for disorganising the meet,
to all those who turned up and to ppint for getting us back to
Radstock in time to avoid the wrath of Tim's ma.

I take no responsibility for the accuracy or otherwise of the
above, any resemblance to persons living or dead is extremely

[1] he reappeared later, zipping himself up.
[2] not 'Club the Seal', Rob.
[3] David Z's bag contained not only a pen and Post-It notes but 
    chocolate.  He hadn't brought the kitchen sink but he didn't
    need it 'because the bag is waterproof'.  This was overshadowed
    by Tom, who had a bicycle in his bag.
[4] Rob started to look panicky at this stage (far too late IMHO)
[5] I think he said 'candle' but Tim's Psion says 'handle'
[6] The cheque is in the post[10]
[7] five now.
[9] according to ppint.  There were no independent witnesses.
[10] no, really. I've asked for a reciept.

Helen Highwater
"I think I may be able to metabolise alcohol."(RM)

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