It was good, although I still hate the Raddled Non-Euclidean hotel. I seemed to spend an awful lot of time just trying to find rooms, including mine (yes, even when sober). I could also have done without the souvenir ‘con crud’ which has evolved into a quite impressive consumptive cough.
My scheduled panels were both interesting, with a good mix of panellists and audience participation. I also blagged my way onto an extra one late on Monday, on ‘researching the imaginary’, though I think the combination of being ill and being unprepared meant I didn’t contribute much of worth to it.
Hanging around at Liz William’s occult emporium in the dealer’s room turned out to be a good move, not least because it meant I couldn’t get lost, and could sit down if I wanted to (seating was in short supply elsewhere in the hotel). The dealers’ room was also an excellent place to meet people, as you could stay still and (much of) the convention would come to you.
I did no writing, and didn’t even find myself compelled to scribble many plot notes, for which I feel duly guilty. I’m off to remedy that situation now. If I remember rightly from before Easter, Taro had just come up with (another) desperate and not entirely sensible plan…