Dec. 1st, 2002

incandescens: (Default)
Blast and bother British Rail, who manage to screw travel up across the country. Part of my trip to (and from) London, a journey of approximately an hour and a half in any case, was conducted by bus (between Southampton and Winchester), thus making the whole process slower and appreciably less comfortable.

More positively, Dragonmeet was very good, and a tip of the hat to James Wallis for organizing it, and to everyone who took part. I did not disgrace myself on the industry panel I ended up on, thank God, and made what I hope were intelligent comments. Though, really, the topic -- WHAT MAKES A GREAT GAME? -- was not exactly conducive to, um, much. Other than that, met many old friends, made some new ones, spent more than I should (on a combination of several Dying Earth products, and the Judas Grail campaign for Kult -- oh, my divided brain), and took advantage of location to stock up on Christmas cards, which I must send soon or I'll miss postal deadlines.

And I shouldn't have bought the book about Dracula as Sex Novel, but really, how could I resist? (Easily, Miss Cogman.) Hush, hush. I'm sure it'll come in useful for my writing at some point. Let's not speculate where.

Overall good and pleased. Wish I could have spent longer at the convention, but I knew I was going to have train problems getting back in any case, so I bowed out earlyish. A pity, but . . .

---

The bedchamber staff were hotly in dispute with the kitchen staff as to which of them was the most overworked; Madame was very particular about her bedchambers, they said, and she was very particular indeed about her own bedchamber. When you considered that you never knew just what you might be finding on the floor of Madame's bedchamber on mornings after a banquet, you might count yourself very fortunate if all you had to do was conjure up a few roast geese and maybe a swan or two to grace the table. Also, hadn't Madame the habit of drawing up a strict rota for her own night's activities. And if the kitchen staff thought it an easy task to have to keep an eye on the clock all night, and send in the young men every hour on the hour, they were welcome to try it.

The kitchen staff refused to be drawn. They said that when you remembered that Madame had the way of flinging nearly all the unsatisfactory lovers bodily through the window before breakfast, it cut down on the tidying up of a morning, never mind reducing the number of breakfasts to be carried in.

-- Rebel Angel, Bridget Wood

advent

Dec. 1st, 2002 11:49 pm
incandescens: (Default)
Advent should mean more to me than just being able to start playing carols, and really I think that it does, but at the moment I am enjoying listening to carols which I haven't played or sung along with for eleven months.

Heian robes would have trailed on the floor. Gyokoumen's robes would trail on the floor. Curious. I wonder what my mind wants that for.

earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone

Okay, now I have to laugh. My mother warned me, at supper, that if I did not have some sort of idea reasonably fast about what I wanted for Christmas, she certainly did. I just now -- well, five minutes ago -- had an idea, and so informed her. (Namely, a new computer chair.) I now find out that this was the very idea which she had also had. Excellent.

I need to sit down and make lists of everyone whom I need to buy/send cards and presents to. An ideal occupation for while several large reports (which I need to do at work tomorrow) will be compiling. Assuming no catastrophes or sudden unexpected tasks, which is probably an unwise thing to do for Monday. Oh well. Let me enjoy the remainder of the weekend while I can.

---

Player: They're hardly divisible, sir - well, I can do you blood and love without the rhetoric, and I can do you blood and rhetoric without the love, and I can do you all three concurrent or consecutive, but I can't do you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory - they're all blood, you see.

Guildenstern: Is that what people want?

Player: It's what we do.

-- Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz & Guildernstern are Dead

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