POSTSCRAP

One thing I notice is how much has been overtaken, over the months, by subsequent publications, surprise, surprise. In some places I updated, in some others I didn't bother. So there!

A thing that pisses me off is the title. Jesus Christ, I thought, what's a suitably witty, clever title for a monstrously big, witty, turgid, fughead, clever conrep? "Black Easter'' had been the obvious title for an Easterconrep. "Condom Capers"? Or even, "Son Of Eastercon"?? It came to me in a flash (honest officer) it did, listening to the good ol' Bonzo Dogs. "KING KON, of course..!" I mumbled to mesel and smiled a little smile as I sometimes do, because it fitted so well. Time passed and, later that same conrep, I heard of CYPHER bearing a Moorcock-pisstake comixtrip. On one of my irregular visitations to Goblin's hovel I eventually thought on to flagellate said Williams into trotting out said CYPHER, or two. Reading through them I can't really understand why I don't send off for CYPHER. That's only one thing as well; I swear there are dozens of things I want to do but never, somehow, get around to or bother. There's something wrong. Either the whirring cogs and wheels behind the inspection-hatch in my skull have been left idling in neutral gear by mistake or I've got Tired Blood. Anyway, a piss off. Beaten to publication, by shit. I wouldn't mind but I really liked the stuff ("Waiting For Goddard" by Samuel Bucket, etc-) the who would "believe in the author with initials like J.C., I ask you??

Actually I have always had a special affinity for King Kong. I guess if I was Mauler I'd say Kong was very "fannish". My investigations seem to show all the Best People, phans or otherwise, hold the legendary tragic figure of Kong in special regard and respect. (l keep looking around for one of those lapel-buttons "KING KONG DIED FOR OUR SINS" -surely one of the best graffitisms ever, in many ways.) Whatever your opinion of this semi-mythological figure, whether revolutionary hero, Messiah, or enemy of the state, I think you've got to admit he had style. There's never been anyone quite like King Kong.

Now I've been to exactly two Eastercons and no Novacons so it's a cinch for me to notice differences and mistakes. This food business: the first con I took tongue buns and ham rolls in ny overnight bag and hard-boiled eggs in great store, and ended up eating only a fraction. At Chessmancon I took very little in the line of vittles and ended up permanently oxfamished. Next con I'm going to get it right, and pack up me hardboiled eggs in me old kitbag. It's the only way.

Luckily the room doors of the Blossoms were deadlocks - when you closed them they didn't lock and you didn't need a key to get back into your room. This was great if it didn't happen to be your room and you were freeloading, as it meant you didn't have to rush around all over the place looking for Goblin or whatever member of Gannetphandumb happened to have the room key at the time whenever you wanted to be back in the room, or to get something, unlike Worcester. As my turn has come round to be one of the hosts to the golden horde of Gannetphandumb next con the sadist in me hopes the doors in that case have Yale locks, as the room key and I will carefully avoid Goblin's presence. This is what's known as "getting one's own back", or "'hide 'n' seek". Other interesting games are "Ring-a-ring-a-roses" and "Blind man's bluff". These, with certain curious alterations, are usually reserved for late night room parties, especially if held by Lisa Conesa.....or if the party's being held by Lisa Conesa.

Speaking of The Lady In The Velvet Mask(s), her eyes are in fact green, something I must admit I hadn't noticed at Worcester. This is rather awkward as it coincides with one of my favourite Crosby, Stills & Nash (as they were then) songs, one remarkably appropriate to some piece of goo which fell out of me typewriter last Xristmas. It's only much later that phriends like Goblin mention this of course (it's all Goblin's fault I swear).

And little Ian was actively hostile to me for most of the Con. Whether this was due to the influence of Pickersgill, or the drink bringing out The Real Goblin, I couldn't say. Neither really, I'd automatically say, but Goblin certainly was behaving unusually. On several occasions all he seemed to do was try to deliberately put me down, and while on several other occasions Goblin was back to his normal Good Ol' Buddy self, his attitude was oft-times Vast Derision. When I perceived that his attacks and scorns were serious and applied with bad blood oozing from them, and not in fact the normal continuous banter and piss-taking, I must confess I was a bit hurt (=choke=) and angered and actually a bit Put Down. I fenced defensively in a not very enthusiastic, slightly mystified fashion, using my razor sharp halfwits, vaguely waiting for the storm to blow over. I still don't know why Goblin suddenly came on the way he did. He later apologised for his behaviour and said he didn't understand it either, so it could be a case of schizophrenia, Goblin could have three egos, not two.

Surprise of the con was, for me, Piggott. I'd vaguely heard the name mentioned around by Ian Maule the previous year, but associated it with the same sort of disembodied, faceless, partoftheaddressoflocsyousometimes see, vague ''name" image that now springs to mind when I stumble across names like -hmmmm- Paul Shackley, Cy Chauvin (hi, Cy) (oh well, be like that then ....if you think I'm going to waste a good line, if any, on Cy Chauvin of all people you're barking up the wrong bush) or Andrew Darlington. It was an amazingly unexpected shock to me to find, at Worcester, that Hall an' 40 an' Pickersgill & Kettle an' Holdstock and all actually existed. I mean, they were big, small, or medium dry, filled up space in rooms, occupied chairs, said words... .Amazing. I'd simply never really believed in phandumb, is really it, altho' I'd accepted its existence on an intellectual level. No, I'm not joking, this is straight up. Anyway, out of nowhere (I can't remember Piggott or anyone of that name at all at Worcester) a seemingly major phan appeared, no doubt out of the bottle of instant middle-terrace-phans (a C.O.L. & D. allusion there). I don't know if I got an exaggerated impression due to the fact he was our co-host, or rarely keep tabs with the current political situation at the Globe, but then again, comparing Piggy with Golden Boy Malcolm Edwards strikes me as grossly undue praise. Certainly I've never forgiven the guy for ambushing me on the Sunday with two water pistols as I ambled thru the portals of 72. Who will be the surprise of Bristol? Is Pete Roberts really rousing the hard shelled natives to march into the place's beer hall and stage a putsch?

One thing I noticed about Chester was that there seemed very little changing of the guard. The conrep does, I must admit, give a rather exaggerated, or, perhaps more accurately 'edited', impression, but everywhere it seemed loomed the vague figures of Dave Douglass, Childe Colley and Pete Presford. At times I had the distinct impression a subtle game of Blind Man's Bluff or Follow My Leader (no, nothing to do with Lisa this time) was being played, with Presford and me taking it in turns to be the blind who was leading the blind. Goblin and Mauler were within spitting distance for approximately 60% of the time, and Piggy too, but oftimes Goblin and Pickersgill and a lass who was not really available and whom I'm not too sure if I should mention or not, were playing troilists, altho' Bob Rickard alternated as the figure of the not really available lass, and Mole & Pig well-known-phanned-around.

Nobody in Gannetphandumb quite knows what Holdstock meant by saying we were "kind" to him. We didn't call the men from the dog pound or throw plaster of Paris over his editorial, true, but so what? In fact I can't remember any of us ever being in conversation with him. This isn't actually all that surprising altho' it may be inaccurate as Holdstock seems to fit into some kind of blind spot. I can't remember what his voice sounded like, what he spoke or, apart from general configuration, what he looks like without the aid of subsequently studied con photos. It's weird. Ames, Roberts, Dave Rowe, etc. - most phannish figures leave fairly good images behind, but Holdstock must be in person, I guess, a quite forgettable person 'cos I've completely forgotten him, more or less. This, apart from differing markedly from the accounts given of him by such as John Hall, doesn't quite jibe with the humourist an' writer figure, possibly it's another case of written and verbal split personality, like Roberts (he's got absolutely no sense of humour, but produces a damn funny fanzine..." saieth Goblin in a low voice so the Eggman wouldn't hear him, pointing him out across the wreck strewn shipping lane of the Giffard lounge).

I notice in her conrep that Lisa complained something about not being able to get hold of Thom Penman on his own. This, as I raise my eyebrows and turn to the mirror to straighten my tie, as you can imagine rather - how to put it - surprises me. Hmmmm.. and even Hmmmmm... Needless to say, it's not quite how I remember it. In the context of this conrep I don't think I could possibly match the lady herself for an end line: "-We kept fixing times and places, but Thom was always late."

Okay, next year's con then, Bristol. Goblin (he does keep getting underfoot doesn't he, help stamp out dwarfandom??) has a theory that phans alternate. Miss this year's con and hit the next, apart from the hard central caucus of con attendees of course. Worcester seemed a good con, but Chester seemed a bit defoliated. Well do I remember some sessions in the Giffard lounge where it seemed just about everyone who'd appeared in FOULER, as inaccurate a definition of Good Guy Phandumb as you're likely to come across, were there, largely it's true lethargically applauding the Ratfandom Triad's roadshow, boozing 'n' falling backwards slowly off stools to attract attention, and laughing at selected victims of Old School Phandumb. Yeah, aren't conventions stupid things, just? What happened at Chester tho'? The missing faces; Hall, Fortey, Marsh - everyone from Boak to Miss Edwards (sorry, Mrs. Edwards now). At Chester, even the bunch of Gannetphandumb weak sisters appeared an unlikely large pressure-group, tho' not enough of us had assembled to begin to fill the power vacuum left in Good Guy Phandumb by the fall of the Waffen Ratfandom. The MaD-Gannet coalition, which is strengthening its axis all the time it seems, was not quite phan enough to do the job. Accordingly, this coming con the dark masters of the Gannet intend to burst open the gates of brass and let loose the pack. Among the faithful summoned, apart from the usual crowd of Goblin, Thom, Mauler and Dave Douglas, will be Doc Robert Jackson, complete with beard and CRAPBOOK II, Henry P. Pijohn (no, that's not a pseudonym), Henry Ritchie Smith (so he says, but you never know, this time he might actually come along), Brian Temple (notebook at the ready), comix phandumb's Jim Marshall (not incidentally Jim Marshall, Newcassel boozefan, who is a regular attendee and another cat altogether) and the other one of the Penman twins, Ian. Both of Gannetphandumb's pet comic phen say they intend coming to Bristol after marvelling over the gruesome tales of SF conventions and making derogatory comparisons with hip comicons. Should they do so, you'll be able to recognise them as two strangers deep in the midst of Gannetdom from the Harry Bell cartoons. JiM is the one with the gold rimless glasses and big mouth and Ian is the smoothie one with the Mike Nesmith (?? - that Monkee anyway -) quiff. Anyone who hasn't closely studied MAYA doesn't deserve talking to.

All in all, despite the rising tide of Gannet "Lebensraum" nationalism which is prevalent whenever Gannets have got together in even small groups lately, it should be a good con, what with everyone else seeming to be set on turning up. To mention but a disparate few, a laff every line comic con if JiMarshall's coming, a South Shields Is The Centre Of The Known Universe con if Ritchie Smith's coming, a buttonholing con if Cas is coming, It's A Phans Life In New Writings In Cymru con if Fortey's coming, and a better than of late con if Lisa's coming.

This postscript was started, sort of, about the 22nd of October, and altho' on several occasions this conrep has actually been finished and away at the printers, here I finally am at the 8th of February. That's Thom Penman for you I guess.

Well, I'll see you then, unless you see me first. All except Chris Priest that is - Penman & Smiff intend to seek him out and pummel him mercilessly until he confesses how he made £3000 in short order out of one novel. If you think we're joking remember my boy that Easter is a good time for crucifixions.

It says here.

(((...............Pissed again:...............)))

Thom Penman, 1972/3.