(Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3)
Writing from London right now, and once again picking up from where I left off yesterday - which means, the SAUSAGE SUPPER!
Of the three pubs in Wincanton, we had been assigned to The Dolphin, a charming blue-and-white building...
I'm dreadfully sorry I took no pics of the sausages themselves (which is so unlike me, now that I think about it)... but, to be totally frank with you guys, I was too busy eating them. What can I say? They were delightful, and well worth the wait!
I got a flagon of a really nice dry cider too, while poor sweetie touched no booze at all, since the legal blood alcohol level for driving in the UK is an uncompromising 0% - plus, he's getting pretty paranoid about driving "the British way" tbh!
Right afterwards we hopped back to The Bear for a couple hours of naughty fun!
It was nothing too ribald, really; just plenty of adult jokes. The main hostess of the show was bubbly and bodacious and all around awesome - I have such a huge girl crush on her!
This morning we relished our last breakfast at The Half Moon Inn, and by now we were pretty much aware of our fellow vacationers' identity. Some of them we had seen cosplaying even!
And, as always happens when I must leave a vacation place I've loved, I felt a little heartbreak right there. I snapped some more pics to remember it by, and the guy at the bar was nice enough to present me with a bag of pork scratchings (LOL!)
The last day of the convention run pretty smoothly, with everyone in town by now accustomed to guards and wizards and barbarians running to and fro, or the sight of DEATH's scythe propped casually against a wall.
Some of the guys we had met yesterday brought us on a tour of the nerdiest block in Wincanton, where even the street names mirror those of Ankh-Morpork...
...then there was more acting at the Memorial Hall, plus the Charity Auction that was a real delight to watch, if nothing else because the auctioneer was the only Brit I had no trouble at all understanding. He was also nice and funny, and really turned what might have resulted in the most boring event in the program - the one you wish you could skip but don't dare to, because Ewwww, come on, it's for charity! - into a veritable highlight.
After that we headed back to The Bear - for the last time, alas! - where I got the most delightful pumpkin soup with a hint of curry, but still no pie. Sigh!
It would have been time for us to drive back to London if we were to return the rental car on time, but the next scheduled event was going to be a cake competition, and... well, you understand.
Plus, uncontrolled voices floating around were hinting at the chance of another visit by The Man Himself... and I knew how much meeting him meant to hun. To me as well, of course, but he'd been so crushed at our missed opportunity yesterday (although he'd sooner lose his tongue than admit such a thing), and anyway I had been vieing for a way to throw him in Mr Pratchett's general vicinity.
So, in short, I kept rambling about teh cakes and how we owed so much money to the rental already that we could as well pay for an extra day. And, sure enough, we stayed.
And, weeeell...
OhmygoshIcan'teven.
I am SO glad I was a little manipulative - fine, fine, let's make it a lot - because we now share a happy memory that I daresay will stay with us for a very long time. Just look at the two of us, the huge grins on our faces!
This would be, I suppose, the point where you're expecting me to tell you about when and how it was that I read my first Discworld novel, and what meeting my favourite author felt like. Only I won't, mainly because it's complicated.
My first literary brush with Terry Pratchett is a bit of a vexata quaestio. And, technically, he's not my favourite author; that would be Neil Gaiman - whom I met twice and in both instances approached with respect and trepidation, as the one that in my eyes incarnates perfection in writing.
Gaiman is, and will always be, my favourite writer - but Pratchett, he's one of my favourite people in the world. I stood speechless with sheer admiration in Gaiman's presence, whereas in Pratchett's I was tempted to give him a big hug, and maybe cry a little on his shoulder. Neil is the master I look up to; Terry is the wise old uncle I wish I had. One made me a better critic, as well as an even more passionate reader; the other played a huge part in making me... me, for better or for worse.
I'm not sure I can explain it any better than this, nor that I'd want to anyway.
It was getting truly late though, so we reluctantly gave up on the closing events, greeted our new friends, and went to recover the blasted rental car. Turns up we'd been fined for leaving it parked for longer than we were supposed to... but honestly, we were way past minding at that point!
We are now staying in the tiniest hotel room ever - seriously, there's no room to swing a cat in, as the locals are fond of saying - and we're feeling rather peckish.
So we're planning to look for an Indian restaurant or something, then go stick our noses around King's Cross station - it's where Platform 9 3/4 is supposed to be, folks! - and have a nice sleep, to recharge our energies for the long trip back tomorrow...
Writing from London right now, and once again picking up from where I left off yesterday - which means, the SAUSAGE SUPPER!
Of the three pubs in Wincanton, we had been assigned to The Dolphin, a charming blue-and-white building...
I'm dreadfully sorry I took no pics of the sausages themselves (which is so unlike me, now that I think about it)... but, to be totally frank with you guys, I was too busy eating them. What can I say? They were delightful, and well worth the wait!
I got a flagon of a really nice dry cider too, while poor sweetie touched no booze at all, since the legal blood alcohol level for driving in the UK is an uncompromising 0% - plus, he's getting pretty paranoid about driving "the British way" tbh!
Right afterwards we hopped back to The Bear for a couple hours of naughty fun!
It was nothing too ribald, really; just plenty of adult jokes. The main hostess of the show was bubbly and bodacious and all around awesome - I have such a huge girl crush on her!
This morning we relished our last breakfast at The Half Moon Inn, and by now we were pretty much aware of our fellow vacationers' identity. Some of them we had seen cosplaying even!
And, as always happens when I must leave a vacation place I've loved, I felt a little heartbreak right there. I snapped some more pics to remember it by, and the guy at the bar was nice enough to present me with a bag of pork scratchings (LOL!)
 |
| The other chips I bought myself btw. Expect a T&T post soon(ish)! |
The last day of the convention run pretty smoothly, with everyone in town by now accustomed to guards and wizards and barbarians running to and fro, or the sight of DEATH's scythe propped casually against a wall.
Some of the guys we had met yesterday brought us on a tour of the nerdiest block in Wincanton, where even the street names mirror those of Ankh-Morpork...
...then there was more acting at the Memorial Hall, plus the Charity Auction that was a real delight to watch, if nothing else because the auctioneer was the only Brit I had no trouble at all understanding. He was also nice and funny, and really turned what might have resulted in the most boring event in the program - the one you wish you could skip but don't dare to, because Ewwww, come on, it's for charity! - into a veritable highlight.
After that we headed back to The Bear - for the last time, alas! - where I got the most delightful pumpkin soup with a hint of curry, but still no pie. Sigh!
It would have been time for us to drive back to London if we were to return the rental car on time, but the next scheduled event was going to be a cake competition, and... well, you understand.
Plus, uncontrolled voices floating around were hinting at the chance of another visit by The Man Himself... and I knew how much meeting him meant to hun. To me as well, of course, but he'd been so crushed at our missed opportunity yesterday (although he'd sooner lose his tongue than admit such a thing), and anyway I had been vieing for a way to throw him in Mr Pratchett's general vicinity.
So, in short, I kept rambling about teh cakes and how we owed so much money to the rental already that we could as well pay for an extra day. And, sure enough, we stayed.
And, weeeell...
OhmygoshIcan'teven.
I am SO glad I was a little manipulative - fine, fine, let's make it a lot - because we now share a happy memory that I daresay will stay with us for a very long time. Just look at the two of us, the huge grins on our faces!
This would be, I suppose, the point where you're expecting me to tell you about when and how it was that I read my first Discworld novel, and what meeting my favourite author felt like. Only I won't, mainly because it's complicated.
My first literary brush with Terry Pratchett is a bit of a vexata quaestio. And, technically, he's not my favourite author; that would be Neil Gaiman - whom I met twice and in both instances approached with respect and trepidation, as the one that in my eyes incarnates perfection in writing.
Gaiman is, and will always be, my favourite writer - but Pratchett, he's one of my favourite people in the world. I stood speechless with sheer admiration in Gaiman's presence, whereas in Pratchett's I was tempted to give him a big hug, and maybe cry a little on his shoulder. Neil is the master I look up to; Terry is the wise old uncle I wish I had. One made me a better critic, as well as an even more passionate reader; the other played a huge part in making me... me, for better or for worse.
I'm not sure I can explain it any better than this, nor that I'd want to anyway.
It was getting truly late though, so we reluctantly gave up on the closing events, greeted our new friends, and went to recover the blasted rental car. Turns up we'd been fined for leaving it parked for longer than we were supposed to... but honestly, we were way past minding at that point!
We are now staying in the tiniest hotel room ever - seriously, there's no room to swing a cat in, as the locals are fond of saying - and we're feeling rather peckish.
So we're planning to look for an Indian restaurant or something, then go stick our noses around King's Cross station - it's where Platform 9 3/4 is supposed to be, folks! - and have a nice sleep, to recharge our energies for the long trip back tomorrow...
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