Russell Kirkpatrick's Journal
Conflux Con report, Part 1
05-Oct-2007
Be warned: this is a long entry.
Everything’s last minute these days. Uni marking and editing my latest manuscript means I haven’t given even a moment’s thought to the convention in Canberra. So when I get on board the Freedom Air flight to Sydney, there’s a nagging feeling I’ve forgotten something.
Mind you. I always have that feeling.
Arrive at Sydney, wait half an hour for the luggage carousel to start disgorging two hundred bags that all look exactly the same, select mine easily because clever Dorinda has tied a green ribbon to it, put it back because someone else’s equally clever wife has also tied a green ribbon to his – then it’s off to rent a car. This is my fourth Conflux, and I’ve done the same thing each time – fly to Sydney, rent a car and drive to Canberra, so I have flexibility when I get there. The experience has become comfortably routine.
I’m waiting for the car to be groomed, chatting to the service manager (who is of Middle-Eastern extraction), and watching in horror as customer after customer treat him like dirt. Peremptory hand signals, anger and superiority is the best of it. Hasn’t the world found a new whipping boy! (Oddly enough, the only family that treat him with any dignity is an extended family of New York orthodox Jews). After the last one I make a sympathetic comment: the lad grunts, tells me it’s par for the course and then says something into his radio. My car arrives immediately– though it’s not the little Daihatsu Mira I’d paid for. It appears I’ve been upgraded.
Off I go. Getting to Canberra is a challenge, even for one such as me, supernaturally blessed with mapsense. Up the ramp, straight ahead, turn right at the lights, left at the Federal Highway turnoff and slow down at the ACT border. That’s it. I stop at Sutton Forest for McDonalds – it’s much better in Australia. Imagine then, you Aussies, how bad it is here. Apart from the Kiwiburger, that is.
By now it’s just after luch Aussie time, and I’ve been up since 12.45am. I spend a couple of hours wandering around Woden’s mall, checking out books and electrical goods, then head back to Donna Hanson’s place, where I’ll be staying (along with Trudi Canavan and beau). Donna’s a wonderful person. She chaired the first two Confluxes and is responsible in large part for the current impetus in Canberran sci-fi. I chat with her a while, fall into a black hole of neither sleep nor wakefulness, then eventually Trudi and Paul arrive. More chat, then
I wake next morning and instantly remember what I’ve forgotten – an adapter for my laptop, which I need to connect to a projector. Paul and I head off to Fyshwick, which has a Mac store, and spend a pleasant hour or so checking out antique shops. Very little Cornishware, unfortunately, but I do get my adaptor, and as a bonus find the famous Lego Star Wars ‘Death Star’ set unavailable in New Zealand (and worth $800 if one imports it). After much humm-ing and ha-ing I buy it. I know I’ll be in trouble when I get home, but half price, dear …
Off to Gillian’s for lunch. Ah Gillian Polack, my sparring partner. We don’t get much time to fence today, which is just as well, as I maintain the illusion that I can in any way keep up with her intellectually. She has guests, including Nicole Murphy, the Chair of the Conflux 4 con, and Graham Joyce, one of the Guests of Honour. This man is seriously funny, and I decide I must buy his books on the strength of eating lunch with him. We make pizzas (Gillian provides us with a base and various toppings; what we put on it is our own affair.) I put lots of weird stuff on mine, including cooking chocolate, in the expectation that others will help me eat it – but mine is the last one cooked, and everyone else is full. To make matters worse, Gillian serves canola for dessert. See how evil she is? I rise to the challenge, abandon the pizza and eat most of the canola. Hah, and you thought you had me. She shows me geological maps. I approve.
Book signing at 6pm, at Dymocks Belconnen. Great store, friendly staff who provide alcohol and nibbles. Trudi Canavan, Karen Miller and myself sign our books for our adoring public. Well, for Trudi’s and Karen’s adoring public, anyway. I decide to occupy myself by being the drinks waiter. Actually, some people do want me to sign books, though I keep being mistaken for Karen Miller. Disconcerting, that. The posters in the window describe us as ‘Legends of Australian fantasy’. I’ve been appropriated, I guess in exchange for Russell Crowe.
Evening meal with the committee and guests at the local yacht club, don’t ya know. I meet and immediately fall deeply in love with Mark Deniz’s sense of humour, and the bloke himself, whose book I have to launch on Saturday, isn’t all bad either. During the dinner I build the fiction that the launch may be threatened by the appearance of an online stalker in the guise of a monkey. I have Kylie Seluka convinced, I think.
Company is wonderful, dinner itself isn’t much chop. But the vibes are great, and I’m looking forward to the con, which begins tomorrow …
As I prepare for sleep I remember the other thing I’ve forgotten, which is my Powerpoint presentation for tomorrow’s 9am workshop.
? mismatching the buns
? misaligning the buns
? putting the filling in the box but not between the buns
? adding a few chips to the salt and some coke to the ice
? serving the result at room temperature.
So it was Lego you bought at Fyshwick...not the other things for which that area is notorious? At least you can tell Dorinda that you saved $400.
Loved the report, looking forward to the next instalment!
Yes, there are many other plastic and rubber items aggressively for sale in Fyshwick, of the - er, intimate nature. I can't imagine shopping for such things. I'm curious how you know of such things, Jo. Well, perhaps not that curious.