And so, now it really start
There is a moment. A define-able, pinpointable moment in any Discworld con, when the day goes from a collection of friends having a drink to a convention. For me it is usually when the first guitar is produced, the first chord struck, the first quavering voices raised in ribald song. It is usually co-incidental with the point at which the proportion of costume to casual dress tips in favour of the costume. Therefore I am now technically at the convention since about 3pm yesterday!
However, there is a dark side to conventions. A negativity. Not, you understand, in the way it is run. Nor in the attendees, who are to a member brilliant, Nor in any way shape or form is the organisation anything less than remarkable. A 900 piece chess set, a 3 dimensional game, wherein the idea is not checkmate, but check-out. In fact, everything is positive except the nomenclature.
Consider. I am staying at home and commuting to the event daily. As a result at 8am I am con-descending. Other people stay in the hotel for the whole time, in the wonderful selection of rooms, which is definitively in-con-venient. However, a Landrover camper lurks outside and the users are of course con-tent. The whole thing is a conspiracy!
At the end of the day (or early the next morning, to be honest) I head home. I am, at that time, un-conventional. But at the end of the weekend the whole of the group will depart for their own homes across the planet, hearts heavy at the loss, the finality. They are to a member Miss-con-strewed. And you're reading this with an air of cynicism. Un-convinced?
Gaz Hunter
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