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Thanks to everyone who helped me escape the sheer grinding misery of existence in a wildly hedonistic weekend. Everyone who played dress-up and put up with my drunken ranting and thought it wasn't too disgusting to drink Sangria at Sunday lunchtime. All the shiny masks. All the posing pancake-makers. Hostess and birthday boy, birthday girl and sister. Good party gods.

UKCAC diary page 3UKCAC diary continues with my descent into the evening. There is a huge porcelain zebra in the hotel foyer. I put on an ill-advised tight-fitting gold velvet top and lose patience with people trying to decide where to eat. The iron-willed dictator we're all missing is Fiona Jerome, at that time heading out of the comics scene to form a brand new magazine called Bizarre; she didn't make it up to Manchester for UKCAC. The tall man I'm burbling at is Gavin Burrows, Zineking of the Brighton small press scene. Into the hotel.

Comments

cleanskies
2nd Mar, 2004 08:37 (UTC)
she marks an important transition moment in the evening
between whiny anxious blathering and lazy stoopid drunken having fun. Benign evening goddess who says, "Go now, relax, but not so much that you draw on the tablecloths, ok?"

Shamefully, I've forgotten her name, though someone who knew her better sent a scan of the page to her, way back when.

Nowadays, I play the iron-willed dictator (Dictatrix?)