More blasts from the past. A jolly good Tiki Party in 1986 that I was unable to attend. Linda Krawecke sent me photos from it to show how the Aloha Spirit had invaded South Ealing. The backstory is that Bryan Barrett and I were planning to throw a Hawaiian theme party at the 1987 Worldcon held in Brighton, and we'd been sending over aloha shirts in advance so as to accustom the Brits to the peculiarly American habit of wearing bright colors and drinking fruity drinks with paper umbrellas in them. I'm proud to say we got several dozen shirts distributed and gave the most colorful party in years.
Left: Ann Green gives the camera a coy look while Alex Stewart goes in for a bit of trainspotter chic. Actually, this is a pub somewhere, not the Tiki Party, and may date from 1984. I can't remember any more. The alcohol, you know. Middle: Linda and Helen flank D. West who has gone troppo. Alun Harries practices Sneerology in the background. Right: Pam Well, sultry goddess of many zippers.
Next, Worldcon photos. Left: Shiny, happy people include Eileen Gunn, Andrew Brown, Linda K. and some unknown guy. Actually, I remember him, he was leering at Simba Blood the whole time. Middle: Sid Coleman relaxes with Ted White and a penguin. They seem suspiciously cheerful. Right: Teresa and I communicate with our home planet. We are proudly displaying our ATom felt pen tattoos.
I had a terrific time at the 1987 Worldcon. I met Nigel for the first time, though he claims to have seen me at Mexicon back in 1984 but was too intimidated to introduce himself. We'd been writing long letters to each other since 1985. I also met Glen Warminger and attempted to have a torrid convention affair with him but frankly, it was hard to get terribly torrid lying on the pebbly Brighton beach snogging at 1am.
I remember dancing to Talking Heads with Patrick Nielsen Hayden. I remember drinking Blue Hawaiis with the 6 Year Old Twins, Lilian and Christina. I remember companionably strolling arm in arm with John Jarrold down Brighton's seafront at sunrise, both of us drunk as lords. I remember a woman tried to warn me away from talking to my pal of several years, Bill Gibson, because she thought I was trying to steal the newly famous author from her. Bill left her sitting on the sofa looking madder than a wet hen when he stood up and insisted on buying me a drink. I'm afraid I smirked at her.
It was quite a convention.
The Index
Next Incarnation