I don't know if anyone else went to the Five Captains convention in London last weekend?
As I have the memory retention of a goldfish I've started the habit of making a journal of this sort of thing, because otherwise I forget the details over time. Distracted has suggested that some of you might like to read about the con, so I'm going to post it in hope that it will give you some flavour of the occasion.
Please bear in mind that this was never intended to be a comprehensive report on the convention; it's basically an Eireann's eye view of events, and as such it's very personal. You may end up thinking I ought to be certified, but you have been warned. If you want a more objective report, this will not be for you.
The extreme shortage of photos is due to the fact that my smartphone turned out to be a totally-stupidphone as far as photography went. I'll add what I can. Also please bear in mind that I have never attempted anything like this so I hope it will turn out ok. Technology terrifies me. If the photos don't load properly or ... well, whatever. I'm having a go.
It's quite a detailed account, so I've split it into four parts. Here's the first.
STAR TREK LONDON 2012
It was a dull, dry, cool day as we arrived at the ExCel Centre in London.
This was my first Star Trek convention – my first convention of any sort, actually – so I was very nervous. I had a couple of photo shoots booked (Dominic and Connor, I’d have liked more but the budget wouldn’t go there) but it was a very daunting prospect; I’m very shy and I normally avoid crowds, and I could tell from the state of the car park that there were going to be CROWDS here.
Some other attendees were unloading from their car beside us when we found a space, the most noticeable being a surprisingly friendly lady-Borg with unmistakable food-processor whisk attachments on her prosthetic arm. A few jokes flew (‘Resistance is futile, I’ll beat you into submission if I have to’), and we all trooped off to pacify the pay-and-display machine, which might has well have had its instructions written in Romulan for all I could make it work. (Fortunately an obliging American came to my rescue. Kind soul.)
I’d been surprised by how small the conference centre appeared from the outside but soon found out that appearances were deceptive; it was huge – light, airy and well laid out, and teeming with Trek enthusiasts. An astonishing number were in costume; TNG and TOS predominated, with a heavy smattering of Klingons and Vulcans and a decent sprinkling of other assorted aliens (though not, as far as I saw, any Tellarites or Andorians). Some of the costumes were quite marvellous and obviously professionally made, though many of the obviously home-made ones were amazingly well done. Naturally I was on the lookout for any fellow ENT enthusiasts. My denim jacket had ribbon stitched around the shoulders, plus an arm patch and rank pips to mark my affiliation just in case anyone felt like starting up a conversation – nobody did, which I was sorry about, as I’d hoped to have a bit of a chat with fellow nutters! During the course of the day I saw two people wearing ENT coveralls, and one very attractive lady in an ENT MU uniform, but though I tried to make eye contact and smiled they obviously weren’t going to play. Friendliness isn’t compulsory, I dare say!
The site instructions hadn't been particularly informative with regard to the autographs side of the business – it just said that virtual queuing would be in operation during the day, and you had to go and put your name down and keep your eye out for when your number came up. That, it has to be said, was a joke; the queue to see Sir Patrick Stewart was less a queue than a mob. If there was any virtual queuing in operation at all for anything I saw no evidence of it, and that, to my mind, was a serious black mark against the occasion. It could, and should, have been organised better; even using the order of precedence of ticket numbers would have been an improvement (as far as it was possible), but it looked as though the staff had given up even trying to establish any sort of control over the occasion.
Apart from the obviously vital business of getting photographed with Dominic and Connor, the other main business of my day was getting Dominic’s autograph on a 16 x 12 print of the picture I’d had made to illustrate It Takes Two to Tangle. My heart was going like a jack-hammer as I got into the hall and began craning around for the appropriate area, and several million butterflies with a severe attitude problem were holding a convention of their own in my stomach.
Eireann Acquires Target. Eireann plots course. Do not get in the way, You Will Not Survive. Eireann stopped at the gateway, shaking like a leaf, while her sixteen-year-old daughter prodded her in the back and said Look, there he is! As if I needed telling – all three of them were there, Dominic and Anthony side by side, and Connor a small distance away along the same table.
OK, I know, it sounds stupid. But I haven’t been that scared and thrilled for years. You stop remembering how it feels to be that alive.
There wasn’t a virtual queue. There was a real queue, and there were only a couple of people in it; that’s presumably what happens when you get out of bed at five in the morning to make sure you arrive early. I wasn’t ready. I’d thought I’d have time to get composed, to think what to say by whatever time the virtual queue system allocated to me. But it was going to be now, and my capacity for rational thought (let alone rational conversation) deserted me like a clairvoyant rat off the Titanic.
There was a panicking moment of getting the cameras ready; I wanted the moment recorded for posterity, even if I subsequently ended up deleting every image because he laughed, or he was offended, or ... I don’t know, the stupidest things go through your head when you’re that stressed. Anyone with eyes would appreciate the quality of the art, but would he like the concept?
There were a few people in front of me. I had a few moments to look, to convince myself I was really here. Connor was in a white and blue striped shirt; his hair looked darker than I’d expected, and he was wearing heavy-rimmed glasses that made him look like a rather sexy professor. After I’d got over the surprise, I thought they suited him. He spoke to everyone pleasantly, with a smile that seemed genuine enough if a little shy. His build hadn't changed significantly as far as I could tell.
Anthony was in fawn, with a peaked brown cap, and looked strikingly different, mainly due to a fuzz of beard that made him look older. He seemed to be a real live wire, with a flashing smile; he didn’t seem a strongly built as I’d expected given the muscle bulk that the series gave us glimpses of, but he exuded energy and enthusiasm.
Dominic, beside him, was in a faded blue denim jacket with a sage green t-shirt underneath it and a striped scarf around his neck. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles, which I certainly hadn't expected, but they were easy to ignore. My immediate impression of him was that he looked tired. When people weren’t actually speaking to him he looked as though his mind was very far away. His hair was shorter and spiky with gel, and his face had the fuzz factor too (I’d been rather hoping he’d be clean-shaven, but was prepared for the worst; having seen him in Species IV it didn’t come as too great a shock).
My turn. My knees went to jelly. I stepped forward and took the print from its protective carrier. I don’t remember what I said; I was too busy watching his face, and when I put the print down the look of total astonishment was worth fifteen million pounds. I needn’t have worried; he absolutely loved it. I thought Anthony was going to fall over backwards, his eyes were like saucers. And the first thing Dominic did was to pick it up, lean over to his left and bawl out, “Connor, look at THIS!”
I don’t know if Connor was talking to anybody, I hope he wasn’t, but he looked over straight away and his eyes opened wide in amazement. “Oh, my,” he said. (Ooh, that accent, my heart went pit-a-pat listening to it.) “Oh, look at that. That is just incredible.”
“I wish Linda could see this!” Dominic shouted to him.
I’d had a smaller copy printed for Dominic to keep, just in case he really liked the original, so I fished it out (rather shakily) and handed it over, explaining that it was for him. Anthony picked it up and stared at it, shaking his head and saying how wonderful it was. He looked up at me with a great big smile and said that when he comes to the next one he wanted one of those done for HIM! Dominic didn’t say a lot, but his expression spoke volumes, even discounting wishful thinking on my part.
He had a silver pen which he said would be the best to use on the dark background, and he wrote my name at the top and slashed his autograph across the bottom.
Then he looked at it for a bit longer, still seeming incredulous.
“Did you do this?” he asked me, looking up.
Oh, temptation has never dragged at me so hard!
But I was honest. I explained that I write fan fiction, and that I’d had it painted to illustrate one of my favourite stories. He smiled and nodded, and I shook his hand, thanked him and said it was a privilege. And there were other people waiting, so I made my escape and got my breath back, and I felt as though I was walking on air....
TBC! (If this one works, that is!)
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But maybe it's a Scandinavian thing. Klingons are a lot like Vikings used to be.
