Am leaving for Eastercon; 4 days of Writerliness and talking about strange things with like minded people. Is like rejoining lost tribe. Am also travelling with Best Friend, yay. Feeling remarkably efficient; house clean, feeding of cats and catching of trains sorted etc., etc.

Am preparing to leave in aura of indecent smugness at being so well-organized when realize house-keys are missing.

Keys not in any of usual places; BF and Self start searching unusual places, then, with increasing desperation, utterly unlikely places.

Any chance of making first panel now vanishing into distance. Try desperately to remember where keep spare set of keys, apart from ones currently with neighbor for cat-feeding purposes.

No idea where spare keys are. Castigate self for rampant inefficiency and apologize manically to BF who is currently (brave woman) investigating festering depths of under-bed area in bedroom. Try to run mental inventory of what under bed, in preparation for explaining any of more gruesomely embarrassing items she might find; but if was capable of keeping mental inventory of contents of rooms, or indeed own pockets, would not have lost sodding keys.

Wrench open seldom used kitchen drawer in hope spare set might be lurking therein only to find proper, original set, gleaming enigmatically from depths.

Have absolutely no idea how they got there. Was not Under Influence last night (currently alcohol-free due to antibiotics, and complaining loudly about same to all and sundry); know BF would not have put them there. Shrug off weirdness and rush for station.

On reaching Waterloo, attempt to leave train only to discover BF's bag strap caught in firmly closed doors offside doors. BF yanks valiantly at bag; rummage frantically in own for sewing kit know is in there somewhere, while appealing to all and sundry for knife, sharpened nail-file, small blowtorch, anything. Have visions of being whisked to siding and left there for days before passing guard hears frantic shouts of, "You realize there are two women in here missing China Mieville?"

Rummage even more manically, while BF efficiently produces Swiss Army Knife and cuts strap, patting beloved and faithful old rucksack regretfully.  

Exit train at speed, shaking, to be approached by large stern guard who has heard about A Troublesome Bag. Mere mention of Bag in any sort of transport situation being so freighted with suspicion these days, are lucky not to be taken off and interrogated, especially since explanations of what just happened rendered incoherent with relief. Fortunately guard gives up and goes off, shaking head.

BF looks at self and says, "One more thing, and I think we should turn around."

Cannot but agree as am beginning to feel more than slightly paranoid. However, rest of trip blessedly lacking in incident, and finally arrive at strange hotel out near Heathrow, in dire need of tea and even more dire need of drink cannot in fact have. Blast.

Wander round seeking familiar faces. Get lost. Find person am staying with – phew – and get lost again.

Hotel really v. strange. Mad miscellaneous artwork from various countries adorns walls and alcoves; e.g., vaguely 15^th century Buddhist-looking statues next to what appears to be rustic cart piled with modernistic pewter vases. Wonder if this some sort of attempt at multiculturalism, or just randomized bad taste. But artwork only odd; actual structure of hotel like something out of Escher; after several times ending up completely opposite end of building from where wanted to be, strongly suspect that at some point will find self turning left out of Ladies and discover am strolling across ceiling.

Hotel management also have odd idea of what constitutes appropriate temperature range for conference rooms; most of smaller rooms are sweltering, while main conference hall is beyond Arctic. Wonder if they thought, since Eastercon is, after all, SF related, that actual aliens would be attending. Perhaps lucky that several rooms not underwater or filled with methane atmosphere in order to appeal to new inter-stellar clientele.

Only one person has appeared in costume so far – a Klingon. Of course is only person of whom local newspaper is taking pictures, despite presence of Neil Gaiman, Tanith Lee, the aforementioned Mr. Mieville and other luminaries. Sigh.

Listen glumly to discussion of why one should not give up day job. Go to panel on women in SF/Fantasy and delighted to see Juliet McKenna and other familiar faces, though wish was one of them; wonder if will ever be in a position to be on panel.

Well, maybe, if panel is next one, entitled Coping with Rejection. Go along to support friend and spot Klingon sitting broodingly in first row; for some reason sight of lone Klingon Coping with Rejection reduces self to helpless though silent giggles for several minutes. Evening disappears in welter of rushing about and shrieking delight at meeting Long Lost Friends (while suppressing massive guilt at not having emailed them for months). Retreat to friend's house and unconsciousness.

Rest of Con a whirl of panels, conversation, and opportunities to be hopelessly fan-girly; firstly at Joe Abercrombie (author of wonderful First Law series) who is too young to be that good, dammit, and too charming to hate for it. At one point am overwhelmed to find self sitting in bar with Tanith Lee!  Have admired her work to point of infatuation for years. Wibble even more fan-girlishly at her, to which she responds with glorious aplomb. Take opportunity to speak to her again after a panel (note: Must Not be Stalky at Famous Authors) and she is joined by her artist partner, whereupon make possibly one of Most Stupid Remarks Ever. Gazing upwards, say; "Aren't you tall?" Agh! I mean, not as if he hasn't noticed. Plus totally failed to mention his work or anything. They are both very nice, possibly out of pity. Dissolve into apologetic burble and retreat hastily.  

Spend not enough time catching up with friend from Milford have not seen in far too long and help her with galley proofs of her novel, while beating down furious jealousy both at fact is being published and at how good it is. Critiqued a bit of it in much earlier incarnation so try to persuade self have contributed in some small way. Am running from panel to panel in Plot Medics t-shirt, which is brill and Good Publicity, but do suffer occasional outbreak of anxiety that someone will mistake me for person with actual medical knowledge and demand assistance. Cannot remember how to do CPR or even what CPR stands for.

As always, do not make it to every panel wished to. Fortunately make it to China Mieville's Guest of Honor Speech where he is witty, brilliant, and leaves brain feeling thoroughly exhausted from overwork, and Neil Gaiman's where he is witty, brilliant, and leaves brain feeling drenched in envy for his lightness of touch. Briefly touch base both with Agent and Person I Hope May Buy Book; feel at least have made effort to Be Professional.

Reach last night and moment when last of antibiotics leave system at same time, so celebrate in appropriate fashion, drink two glasses of wine rather fast and dance around madly at disco.

Last day arrives far too soon. After exhausting though fun morning spent critiquing, spend delightful afternoon getting quietly sozzled in bar talking about writing. Eventually drag self reluctantly away, and finally home, where discover loudly disapproving cats, festering cup forgot to wash up before I left, and two short story rejections.

Grump. Feel as though have been cast out of Eden, despite relief at own sane levels of central heating. Must go to more cons. Must book for next year. Oh, and must make Special Hook for keys and remember to put them there…

Gaie Sebold's short stories have appeared in, among others, Black Gate, City Slab, and Legend and she has received an Honorable Mention in Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Her first fantasy novel (first publishable novel, that is) is now with an agent and she is currently working on her second. She is a member of T Party Writers and commits occasional poetry readings. Her first poetry collection, Urban Fox (The Tall-Lighthouse, 2001) is available at Amazon.co.uk. Contact her at urbancat<at>talk21.com. Visit PlotMedics at http://www.plotmedics.com.

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