Day2Day

I'm about to leave the computer and do some reading. I'm nearly a third of the way through the book I should have read in February to meet my target. To put this in perspective, the book IS over 900 well filled pages, but I definitely have some catching up to do.

I'd have started earlier this evening but I had to do the shopping. After the spectacular failure of the attempted joke previously, the shopping contains nothing unusual this time around.

You don't need to know me for long to realise that I hate the train company I am forced to use in order to get to work - Southwest Trains. They run a shoddy service on run down trains and generally make getting to and from work an unpleasant experience. And then, when you get to Waterloo, they have the audacity to THANK you for using the service - as though there's actually any choice in the matter. They leave it until the last minute to advertise the platforms, causing crushes of people charging across the station. The trains smell musty and unpleasant and I wouldn't be surprised to hear there's an overly high ratio of spores in that air. There are graffiti problems, the seats are broken and slashed, the windows are filthy and many just won't shut. The trains are extremely old stock, with slamming doors that leave a draft. The seats are too small so you're forced up against other passengers. The staff strike regularly in pay disputes causing me to have to travel to the next town along to travel on the reduced service - reduced to the extent that you're lucky to even get a seat. The trains are supposed to take around fifty minutes but they actually take around an hour. There are no announcements while you stand in the freezing rain at Fleet station for a train that should have turned up ten minutes ago. And when the train does arrive, chances are it won't have the advertised number of carriages.

A monthly ticket costs �225. An annual costs �2226. A simple return ticket is just over �18.

While I was in America my train ticket expired. Knowing that I'm moving soon, there was no reason to renew an annual ticket. However, I discovered something interesting. I knew in advance that tickets are rarely checked - when they are checked it comes in flurries - three times in one day, perhaps. Or once a day for a week. But in the meantime you're left alone and not hassled. Many people just don't buy tickets. I know this because when the inspector turns up and asks to see it they buy one. This is infuriating. They aren't meant to be on the train without a ticket - they are supposed to be fined ten pounds and sold a single ticket. But no, what actually happens is they buy the return they should have had, and if they don't get asked to present a ticket they get the journey for free.

So I thought sod it. I could probably go unnoticed for a day or two without a ticket - and I did. Then, a few days on, I encountered the interesting discovery. Despite the fact that the annual ticket I hold has the expiry date stamped accross it in writing larger than anything else on the ticket, if you hold up a season pass the ticket inspector just nods and moves on. I did this four times. Now, the ticket did say "February" so perhaps they just didn't look closely at the number. But four different inspectors were fooled by this, while I sat there, ready with my fake excuses of not having noticed.

But last week the month ticked over into March, which means my ticket becomes more obviously expired and my "didn't notice" excuse appears less valid. So I planned to buy a ticket. I actually have no qualms about getting 10 days or so for free - it's overpriced and the refunds offered for those strike days are a joke. Maybe that's immoral in some people's view, but why the hell should I fund all those other fare dodgers and put up with the crappy service day in, day out? But enough's enough, and I thought I'd buy a short term ticket over the weekend.

Well, the plan to go and buy a weekly ticket failed over when I completely forgot about it. So this morning I got onto the train without a valid ticket again. As we approached Waterloo I thought I'd managed another free ride... until just as we pulled in the inspector/conductor appeared.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull out the blatantly expired ticket and wave it at him. Maybe it was because there was more chance of it being noticed, maybe the guilt I tried to bury was kicking in. But I couldn't bring myself to pull out that pass and act confident. "I think I've left my season ticket at home," I lied. And he sold me a ticket, no fine, and told me I could get a refund if I presented it at the ticket office along with my season ticket.

Tonight I buy a weekly. And when I move I say goodbye to Southwest Trains. Can you guess which of these two events I'm actually looking forward to?

Finally got around to seeing Monsters Inc last night. Wound up sitting right down at the front because the cinema was packed but the film was good enough that I forgot the awkward seating position quickly enough.

There were the odd few nitpicks to be had, but overall it was a great movie from start to finish. Some nice in references to Toy Story in there, as well. I think this is one for the fledgeling DVD collection later.

I don't generally do these things - I prefer to write what's on my mind rather than answer random questions, but in the absence of much else to say it gives you something to read. And it's more informative than those "You are Cornflakes" type quiz thingies that seem so prolific around LJ.

Last book you read:
Choke by Chuck Pahlinuk(sp?). I'm currently on Perdido St Station by China Mieuville(sp?). I've got a plan - I'm going to read 12 books this year. Which, admittedly, isn't many - but it's more than I managed last year. Not on track yet, unless I get through 400 odd pages before tomorrow. But, hey, it's a short month (excuses, excuses...)

Last movie you saw: The Blues Brothers

Last movie you saw on the big screen: Um... I think it might have been Final Fantasy. No, it was Lord of the Rings. We meant to see Vanilla Sky but never did. And Monsters Inc is next only they don't seem to have night showings so we missed out at the weekend because I was late home from Peterborough (bloody trains...)

Last phone number you called: The voicemail system at work. I had voicemail. It was for Brenda. No, I have no idea who Brenda is.

Last show you watched on TV: Eastenders. Blah. I could lie and claim Dark Angel or Buffy which were immediately before Eastenders in this week's viewing.

Last song you heard: Chumbawamba, Tubthumping. It's on the CD alarm and I get the first line of it every morning before I turn it off.

Last thing you had to drink: Mocha from Pret

Last thing you ate: Chocolate croissant from Pret

Last time you showered: A few weeks ago when trying to dye my hair back to brown instead of black. I prefer baths. Last bath - yesterday morning.

Last time you cried: Monday.

Last time you smiled: This morning.

Last time you laughed: Cynical laugh - this morning whilst hearing about the non existant bonuses at work. Last real laugh - while watching Dark Angel on Monday. Are we seeing a TV theme here...?

Last person you hugged: Not sure, don't hug much. Possibly Nic when saying goodbye at the end of Corflu. Yeah, must've been.

Last thing you said: Something cynical about those bonuses...

Last person you talked to online: AJR and Col on IRC last night.

Last person you talked to on the phone: My mum on Saturday night.

Last thing you smelled: Coffee at Pret.

Well, that's about it. By the rules of these things I'm meant to email it to everyone in my address book and insist they fill it in and send it back, but I'm not quite such a loser (heh).

Bonus points for figuring out where the title of this entry comes from.

What have I acheived today? Well, I did some washing. And yeah, that's pretty much it. Been a bit of a slothful day, really. But I deserve it after the jetlag and having to travel on a Saturday despite the horrendous trains.

Tomorrow I go to Peterborough to hand over vast sums of cash and sign a contract. The contract will then be held on file until such time as an exchange date is arranged. I'm only a couple of steps away from being a home owner. Of course, it could take quite some time to complete, but it's happening. I should probably start organising some of my belongings. Packing the summer clothes, collecting boxes for further packing. That sort of thing. Plus, of course, there's the unpleasant bit yet to come - the bit where we try to decide who gets what out of the shared items. Not that I'm really in any state to do that this weekend. Saturday will be taken up by the contract signing (more so by the travel to and from, but still...) and then Sunday I'll be catching up on a combination of sleep and missed TV. I've got new Buffy & Angel to watch from Beth, plus ER, Dark Angel and Frasier from while I was away. Life's just packed with excitement, eh?

So I wrote a con report. I posted it to one of my mailing lists and I've had an offer of publication in someone else's zine but I figured it would be a good way of filling you in on where I've been all weekend if I dropped it in here, too. Deep breath, now, it's long!

The impossibly nice Randy Byers throws in a characteristic
"Uhuh," as Nic pauses for thought. He's telling us about
Jimbo, which apparantly means he needs to tell us about
Frank, but in order to reach that point in the tale we need
to know about the guy who lives next door. "A tree fell on
his house, you know," Nic points out. Mark Plummer and I
share a bemused glance. This actually started as the tale
of how Nic and Bobbie fell out with Matt and Charlene but
we still haven't figured out who half of these people are
nor whether we are getting close to the point. It's surely
only a matter of minutes before Bobbie is going to suggest
Nic goes and sleeps now. We're in the smoking con suite and
it's impossibly late but it's okay because back in the UK
it's actually breakfast time and I'm breakfasting on rum.
Trust me, it made sense at the time.

Bobbie herself is over in the kitchen area, hovering,
refilling this snack dish or that, clearing empties into
the trash. She does this a lot, seemingly unable to relax
until someone demands it of her. Ted White waves a pipe in
the direction of Victor Gonzalez but their voices are
drowned out by the sound of other people's laughter. Lying
on the bed on my front, chin rested on a pillow, it's easy
to survey the scene and relax. Nic's conversation is
unabating to the right of me and Mark is either ignoring
everything or letting it all sink in. Randy nods now and
then and he's probably listening to the meandering tale in
order to avoid Eve Harvey's insistance that he should stand
for TAFF. Eve herself is now across the other side of the
room, perched on the arm of the chair John Harvey is seated
in. I'm comfortable, and the well sprung bed has nothing to
do with it. I'm among friends, I'm home. It might be a
country where even I start to think in foreign English
(Bobbie's still dealing with the trash but back in England she'd
be throwing away rubbish) but in real terms this is
somewhere else - the travelling circus of fandom that they
call conventions.

It's all about the 'boo, they say. But it's not. It's about
the rapport, the friendships and the laughs as well. It's
about a common understanding and a similar outlook on how
life is. When I went to Novacon I felt I was starting to
fit in and be accepted as a member of the community. Here
at Corflu I was sure of it. More so, (if we assume there
can be levels of "sure") at a point yet to happen. They
gave me the best new fanzine fan award. They peppered the
announcement with phrases like "landslide victory" and they
made me feel welcome. Uncomfortable under the gaze of way
too many pairs of eyes as well, sure, but I "felt the
love".

But dropping back, a moment, there we were on Saturday
night. Or *was* it Sunday? The days blur. Drink and
conversation flowed through the surprisingly clear
atmosphere. The Radisson air conditioner did us proud, as
did the easy access to both con suites and the generally
amiable response of the staff despite our smoking in the
stairwells, wandering around barefoot and accidentally
dialling 911 three times. At my feet, my small bag is full
of fanzines, both received and ready for offering. Nestled
among them is the camera that will be used several times
throughout the weekend to aid in the web site updates via
the laptop across the other side of the room. Every so
often I glance over. The computer doesn't move, it, too, is
among friends and safe enough that my usual paranoia is
subdued and I leave it in the room when I'm not there
several times.

People ask me what brought me to the convention. I feel I'm
on the spot and reach for answers.

Truth be told, the answer lies partially in my inability to
respond quickly. I'm not good with strangers, not a
voracious talker even among friends. It's frighteningly
possible that a majority of my conversation takes place
through text - primarily online, but also in this new (to
me) world of fanzines. Here I'm among people who have read
me, who I have read. We know one another to some degree
already. It's so much easier to to handle "Ah, so *you're*
[name]" than to seat yourself among a group at any other
convention. Perhaps this is because I'm becoming more
familiar with names and faces, but I think the zines and
online forums have a lot to do with it. It's the tribal
thing. This is my tribe, with all its quirks, in jokes and
internal fights. And this is a homecoming, even if I've
never been here before. I can walk into any of the con
rooms and find someone to talk to. In fact, the gang from
New York who are hanging downstairs have made pointed
suggestions that if I don't smoke I ought to go visit with
them a while. And maybe later I will, but right now Bobbie
has finally relaxed and lay down on the bed and we're
watching Lenny hover in the corner where Yvonne and Jae are
sitting chatting over the voices of Sheila and Victor
arguing about the etiquette of mailing lists. It's a four
day long party without any of that irritating music to
drown out people's voices (so long as we keep Nic away from
the radio alarm clock in the corner).

In fact, the theme of the weekend wavers between the cheesy
slogan "Feel the love" and music. Ever notice how many
fanzine or article titles are musically inspired? Or how
song lyrics sneak in where least expected? Watch out for
them. "That would make a good fanzine title!" people shout
out when songs are mentioned, and in opposition "Sounds
like a good name for a rock band!" follows most everything
else in the lulls of conversation. The Fanzine Titles panel
turned into an extended conversation about music, whilst
Four Weddings and a Funeral turned into a bloodthirsty
discussion of how best to kill the enemies of fanzine
fandom, ably presented by Sheila Lightsey. The Lenny Bailes
show revealed more than one might want to know about our
erstwhile host (and we'll pass over the matrimony question
in this particular forum, thanks) and a Sorenson special
rounded off the evening with a (musical again) thoroughly
entertaining version of The Blues (Booze) Brothers. Kudos
in particular here goes out to Claire Brialey who reports
"Being in a Sorenson musical is probably even worse than
having one done about you, it's not an experience I want to
repeat," despite the many congratulations she received. Eve
Harvey has video evidence of the event - participants may
want to stay on her good side.

The banquet on Sunday was originally planned as a crab
feast and when last minute problems intervened this became
a great source of consternation online with some parties.
Why, asked Dave Locke, Should anyone be forced to pay for a
banquet of inadequate food when they could be out dining
with friends? From where I sat the actual event went down a
storm. The food was excellent and the supplies were vast.
The atmosphere was amiable and the event played host to the
awards ceremonies and Guest of Honor speech. It was Moshe
Feder crowned Guest of Honor on Friday evening, and in
honor of the host state we crowned him good. It was Bill
who co-ordinated the purchase of a large crab shaped hat
which was placed upon his head before he began to address
the audience. Ted White, Nic Farey, and Victor Gonzalez
also took to the podium at different stages at the end of
which the FAAn award winners were named, the past
presidents of FWA were announced as John and Eve, and the
bid for next year's event by the Madison crowd was
formalised. Y'know. The usual.

But it was outside of the formal events that the best time
was had. Lying and sitting around with friends, being
invited out to eat - even if I didn't take anyone up on the
offer in the end. Wandering from room to room, helping out,
being recognised, having a drink and a laugh with fans and
just fitting in.

When everything official was over I helped pack up, and we
somehow managed to fit everything into one car for the
return journey. One car, I might add, upon which I bashed
my head pretty bloody hard, resulting in a souvenir bruise.
But when it was done and we were sufficiently rested I went
on a day trip to America. We had dinner, we checked out the
mall. Then we flew back to the UK, facing the real life
problems of travel and incompetence and beaurocracy and all
those things that give us fodder for the fanzine articles.
There are finance issues to overcome yet, but all being
well I'll be taking another holiday to Corflu next year.
Tracy, Bill - you've got a lot to live up to. Can I
interest anyone in a web site?

Bed, then America. Cool.

My friend* is just getting over a case of tharyngitis. She hadn't ever heard of it until she got it. Neither had I. I just looked it up using google and the only match was a registered death in the 1800s. That's, um, concerning.

* When DO people become friends rather than acquaintances?

I really am useless when it comes to trying to sleep sensibly. Friday night I slept from around midnight to six thirty - an average workday type night. Which would have been fine, except that I really had some catching up to do. I spent Saturday in London, got home at around 10pm and messed around online until midnight at which point I went to bed and woke up at 6.30am. And 7am. And 8.30am. And 9am. And then I thought "Sod this" and got up.

So, although it was interrupted, that was a decent sleep that should have set me back on track for the week ahead. And what did I do? I stayed up until 2am chatting online, knowing perfectly well that I had to get up at 6.30 this morning. So now I'm tired again and I didn't sort out the software on the laptop ready for Corflu, so that still needs doing and there's Friends to watch on video and Dark Angel is on tonight and I'm all set up for another late night, despite my better intentions.

And there's also the small matter of the eye test today. I'm getting quite concerned about my vision. Everything is fine apart from the computer screen. And on tired days the computer screen is noticably blurry looking. And let's face it, they're all tired days, really, aren't they?