Seccon was not a particularly vice-ridden convention. In fact, the dodgiest moment came when Simon Bradshaw admitted to this lifetime ambition during the closing ceremony. Stephen Baxter, the guest of honour, was ready to oblige, but for some reason Simon preferred to hide under the table.

More vice was provided in the form of the rock opera Fundament, which Alison starred in and about which the less said the better. Come back Ian Sorensen, all is forgiven.

The Plokta cabal (and friends) march on Stevenage.

None of us was very impressed with Stevenage. If this town were a building, it would have won a major architectural award. The hotel was vaguely shabby and uncomfortable, had no good beer, and was in a part of town where McDonalds represented a culinary highlight-ie, the main shopping centre. It had also been used for Precursor. "I think this may be the worst hotel that I've ever been back to" said Patrick Nielsen Hayden. He clearly goes to a better class of conventions than the Plokta cabal. "I didn't even have to throw any prostitutes out of this one," said Sue.

Looking on the bright side, it was certainly cheap and the natives were friendly. There were some adequate restaurants, all of which were in the old town. We were particularly taken by the All You Can Eat Chinese restaurant, where you could eat anything off the main menu for a flat rate. The old town also had a number of interesting shops-chief amongst which was a cut price digital camera shop. Just the thing a top class convention town needs. Only Steve (and Alex McLintock) succumbed.

Guy Dawson entertained us all by wearing a divinely fondleable blue velvet suit. Sort of like a very expensive, Paul Smith, Nightcrawler costume. Alison and Lilian are shown below frisking him in search of his prehensile tail.

I'm pretty sure he's carrying a concealed weapon.

Meanwhile, Guy's wife Sue had little choice but to hit the bottle hipflask.

Teresa Nielsen Hayden was determined to understand the way that the British do things. She is depicted below practising saying "Another pint of best bitter please." After repeating this phrase at regular intervals through the entire evening she became quite fluent. So fluent, in fact, that she lost the knacks of holding her beer upright and walking down the middle of hotel corridors without bumping into both walls. Not to mention the floor. And ceiling.

"Now, Teresa, your starter for ten: Can you remember your room number?"

--Alison Scott

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