A few more Worldcon photos, just for laughs. Left: Arthur Thomson attacks my ankle looking for my tattoos while Chuch Harris grabs my ass. This is in lieu of an actual introduction, you understand; having been raised to respect my elders I am helpless to defend myself. Patrick Nielsen Hayden encourages ATom while Walt Willis reads quietly in the far background. Center: Glen Warminger attempts to hide his sissy, non-alcoholic drink. To his right John Brunner looks askance at the very idea. Right: Nigel, Steve, Robert, and Glen, four out the five Chicken Brothers, visibly attend the Tiki party. Alun's probably the unseen presence Steve is talking to. Only Robert is man enough to wear an aloha shirt.
Now for the post-Worldcon frolics. There was a terrific party at Eve and John Harvey's place when they still lived in Surrey. Left: my darling first husband, Phil Palmer, mixes drinks while Simba prepares the snack tray. Inexplicably, Martin Tudor is wearing the identical outfit he wore in 1984 when I last visited. Center: My favorite photo of ATom. The other chap is Keith Oborn. Right: Sometime about midnight Linda K. decides to dress up everyone's favorite boy toy Tony Berry in a disco-era shirt. Tony flashes a bit of manly chest hair as it is discovered the shirt doesn't actually fit. Where's a gold snaggletooth necklace when you need one?
Phil and I kept fully half of British and American fandom confused as to whether or not we really were married, by the way. A lot of people thought he was gay, everyone knew I was straight, and nobody knew what to make of our close friendship after we sent Ted White a postcard announcing we had eloped. Ted printed the postcard in his fanzine and the puzzled looks and tentative queries went on for years. The best part? We never have told the truth about it one way or the other. About our marriage, either.
I'm struck by how many people in these photos have died since the pictures where taken. Chuch is gone, and Walt, and Arthur, three fannish greats. John Brunner, not an acquaintance of mine, died in 1995. Andrew Brown's death was a great shock as he was relatively young. It's just a wee bit morbid to look through my photo album these days.
I am pleased, on the other hand, by how many people in the photos I keep in touch with: Alun, Pam, Tony, Nigel, Martin, Ann, Joseph, and all of the Americans. It's a little surprising because though once I was a fannish comet blazing through the firmament (as Ted White famously announced to my utter embarrassment) the truth is I've dropped out of active fandom. I go to the occasional Corflu, I turn up at Orycons regularly, I attend a Worldcon every five years or so, and I socialize with fans. But this diary, while not dissimilar to my personal fanzine writing, isn't a true fanzine because I don't post letters of comment. I do get e-mail but none of my other readers see it, and letters are very important to establishing community in written fandom. There's no give and take with an online diary. There's only me.
Sometimes I miss being a sensitive fannish face.
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