Our first guests arrived around 11.30am-ish, and the last rolled out at 1am the following morning. It was that kind of lunch, and we had an absolute blast the whole time. For some reason, Eastern States' SF folk get together all the time, whereas Western SF writers don;t seem to (or, you know, just don't invite us...). The weather's turning fine, our backyard is big enough to hold the children of many families (including the weird doppelganger kiddie who lives next door and freaked out many of us there, not least Tehani, whose daughter Gwen is the dopplegangee...)-- we'll be doing it again.
And to give you an idea of the sort of things that get covered when the (allegedly) finest SF minds in WA get together, a smattering---
- When a bed is that close to the ceiling, all sex is experimental.
- There's a fine line between footsies and rough sex.
- Aaron Eckhart's jaw: like Dib's head, why is it so biiiiig?
- If fortnightly sex is in the diary, well, what can you do?
- Oh God, Battersby children really do play those sort of games. The blogs aren't exaggerating! (Lifesize doll, dragged around by her tied-together feet, Erin deciding who is and isn't a zombie. That's all I'm saying)
- Come to Christmas Island: we've got guano and jumping crabs!
- Black, Issue 2: look for the surprise book spine.
- Oh, and the writer's names spelled out in acrostics.
- Grasshopper pie: alcohol and fake grasshoppers. Look for them in your local Coles.
- All the chocolate covered jelly snakes have gone. Back to Ireland. Won't they be surprised?
- It's a suit of high grade metal polymer carrying the latest in space-age technology, repulser rays, and flight rockets, not a dolly.
- Seriously, what's with Aaron Eckhart's fucking jaw?
- And if you are going to use Iron Man as a sex toy, take the visor off first.....
Too. Much. Fun. Roll on spring so we can do it again.