As completely unseasoned conventioneers it didn't take much salt and pepper to get us in the mood. The minute we walked nervously into reception, greeted by familiar characters we had previously met only in our own imaginations we knew we were in the right place. We couldn’t wait to hurry to our rooms for our own transformation from Roundworld citizens to members of the Discworld.
A quick dab of ketchup and we felt seasoned enough to become our own characters – a teacher in black waistcoat and long black skirt, and a witch in the draughty Halloween costume I had packed at the last minute. Guided by the kind helpful words of a handy gopher when we collected our goodie bags at registration, we joined the 700 other convention attendees at this luxurious Birmingham hotel, to cheer excitedly as a nervous familiar man walked onto stage at the opening ceremony. And yet once he was there he seemed quite at home, forgetting the mike so that we could barely hear him, and asking permission from his documentary team to give away some of their secrets. He chatted about the dreaded illness that we dare not speak its name, before anyone else could ask him about it, and happily swept the stage as the notices were read out by the chap in charge.
What a good job, the history monks had managed to retrieve the weekend so that we were able to enjoy it after all? Or had we already enjoyed it and were afforded the opportunity to do it all again? Perhaps that’s why myself and the 50% of other convention guests who are here for their first Discworld Convention feel so at home: its because in reality we have done it all already. I bet it was good.
Sarah Ganderton
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