It’s fairly simple: don’t travel.

That’s my solution; watch the Police and the Tax-Man miss me; I’m immobile!

Having arrived at the start of June realizing that The British Fantasy Society’s FantasyCon was only a little over four months away, the state of the finances of both myself and the company couldn’t be described as being ‘set on solid ground’, and indeed the great statistical likelihood that things will get worse before they get better, the decision has been arrived at that the United Kingdom will be an I.A.M.-free zone during the coming autumn.

This is not something I’m too happy about, obviously, but given the reality that I have yet to repay a single dollar of the costs of last year’s event-filled trip (my première voyage off the North American continent was destined to be legendary, and I’ve never known how to do anything in half-measures) and as my only employment is through Humdrumming it’s unlikely that I’ll be able to do anything about that in the interim, never mind get my hands on the same amount again in a matter of a dozen weeks, there was no choice but this one to be made. Granted, a way for the company to pay my way over and back could be found, but only at the cost of the authors’ well-deserved fees. This is hardly a solution, however, as the only thing that the firm has in any tangible fashion is the goodwill of the authors whose works we publish. Lose that, and the firm has little — if anything — with which to exist.

Our Table at the 2007 FantasyCon

What is potentially the most disheartening possibility is that this may be the year that Humdrumming is realistically likely to be nominated for, and potentially win, something during the BFS Awards event. Even if we were only to be granted a look in on the nominations list, the opportunities presented during three-day flurry of events to meet authors we’re publishing, as well as ones who might be a part of our stable either soon or in the more distant future, is not one which is properly appreciated until the thing is experienced. You fall into conversation with people you’d not have met otherwise, people whose work is already proudly presented is seen in a new and brighter light as a result of hearing others speak in reverential terms of the writing, perhaps a chance meeting with a Guest of Honour leads to opportunities not even considered possible until then.

Indeed, this year we have a number of wonderful books to launch, and even have a couple of wonderful things to make official announcements of for the first time. We even are to have our own book launch event, something rarely heard of for any publisher, and certainly not for one whose existence is less than five years in age.

Yet, sadly, this is the way things have transpired this year.

Ah well, one makes what decision one can based upon the information available at the time one makes it.

Still… it’s an arse, i’nit?

I’ve passed excited, then terrified, and am now at the point of “can’t we just get this fucking over with so I can relax and drink wine in Spain?”

I’m sure as the æroplane’s tyres leave the tarmac I shall be filled with my typical thought:

WHAT AM I DOING? THIS IS ALL WRONG!! THIS THING SHOULDN’T BE ABLE TO DO THIS! WHY IS THE HUGE, HEAVY OBJECT RISING FROM THE GROUND?!? WE BELONG DOWN THERE, NOT UP HERE DEFYING ALL THE GOD-GIVEN PHYSICAL LAWS!!

Later on I’ll turn to wondering if the mechanics of the ‘plane will fail, a bomb will be ignited, some wack-o will attack the pilot(s), or a crate of serpents will be opened in the hold. The flight’s 9½ hours… there’s a lot that can be worried about during 9½ hours… and I’m an over-achiever, so…

Am I nervous? Not really, just one possessing a logical mind. I sit in a seat, look out the window, the plane leaves the ground, I realize I am now 300 feet up, humans aren’t built for that, I comprehend things are wrong, and logically panic. Fairly straight-forward.

Granted, once the plane’s up, I’m fine; it’s the time before the ground becomes so far away it looks like a satellite map that I’m a bit uncomfortable. Landing and taking off are, after all, 95% of all the times anything can — and usually does — go wrong on a flight. Let’s face it, trans-Atlantic mid-air collisions are not ten to the penny. Badly placing an A330 in the middle of some built-up area of Norwich, however, is a bit more statistically likely.

Am I used to long travel? Hell no. I’m able to recall every single time I’ve travelled by plane with crystal clarity. They number only four total occasions (in round trip terms), the most recent when I met Jennifer in California nine years ago [image from the trip, left]; the first being when I was four or so and we flew about as far as London to Paris.

Yes, really.

The advice I’ve heard about dealing with jet-lag, etc is much like what Cotts advised me to do:

There is a fairly simple answer to making the flight better for yourself and unsurprisingly it is ‘Cure All’! I implemented such a plan when flying back from the US a couple of weeks ago. Don’t be afraid to ask for more than one drink when they come round in the beginning of the flight, I found that 2 large Gin and Tonics and and airline sized bottle of wine did the trick. After that, you will eat your somewhat tasteless meal and be asleep before you know it. Job done.

A fine plan, except that I’ll be flying on an airline where they demand payment for their tiny servings, but according to him, the better price is had paying in Dollars than Sterling. No idea why, but apparently the price is better.

Anyway, the procedure I’m intending to follow doesn’t involve the cure-all. Eat lightly or snack/graze, drink much liquid (juice, water, etc) but no liquor, stay awake or nap lightly, arrive and eat the local meal at the correct hour, then sleep at the same schedule as the locals.

Ta-da; instant native adjustment. I’m told.

However, I have a nine-hour-plus flight that leaves at almost 9:00pm local time, arrive in the early afternoon at Gatwick on the Saturday, then drive up the motorway to Stratford (getting out of Greater London as fast as possible to avoid the gits who drive the area blind-folded… and may actually do so). So maybe the cure is good to put me to sleep, then wake-up on the plane at 8:00am GMT, and then adjust from there?

It seems that plans are well under-way for welcoming committees to line the streets of Shakespeare’s Stratford upon my arrival. According to our man on the ground there, the locals have been constructing a triumphal arch in the main street, the hotel is altering its menu to include a salmon course to be followed by maple syrup marinated caribou steaks then dessert of raspberry pie with Canadian cheddar on top. All accompanied with a flight of Okanagan wine, naturally.

The local shops will have “Grade, Eh?” sales as well, with prices of “whatever you can carry out is free” for anyone carrying a valid Canadian passport. Looking forward to getting my own Jester’s cap with jingling bells.

Then, on to FantasyCon, which is September the 21^st through the 23^rd inclusive, at the Britannia Nottingham Hotel (formally Holiday Inn Nottingham City Centre part of the Intercontinental Group), #1 St James Street, Nottingham [image, below left], and we’re staying there as well as the events being held in the convention rooms due to it being, according to the promotional bumpf:

…the city’s premier hotel. Adjacent to Nottingham Castle, it has a superb city centre location and is the perfect base for exploring all the sights of Nottingham.

The hotel is situated near to Nottingham Castle, Trent Bridge Cricket Ground, Victoria Shopping Centre and the Nottingham City business district, proving an ideal location for both business and pleasure. Nottingham is also renowned for its vibrant and popular nightlife.

Night life which includes being dragged up an alley and getting the boots, apparently. The city has the distinction as being ‘one of England’s Hard Cities’. Never saw having six types of shit out of one’s body as either “popular” or “vibrant”, but I suppose it takes all sorts…

Somewhere in the hotel will be the “Dealers’ Room” for the British Fantasy Society’s “FantasyCon”, or failing that we’ll be in the hotel’s pub. Friday we’re out for curry around 10:30 with a gang of famous authors (well, “industry fame”, not popular variety) but we’ll be easy to spot either earlier that evening or the next day. I’m sure asking at the desk during the event will cause them to roll their eyes and beg you to drag us from the building so that their rooms will be in fewer pieces.

And let’s look at those rooms…

All bedrooms are maintained to a high standard, and are decorated in a bright, and contemporary style. All beds now feature a luxury duvet and cotton bedcovers.

If that’s the way my room’s decorated, there’s no way I won’t wake up quickly in the morning. ‘Strooth! Turn on the light and I’ll be alert, that’s for sure! Hangovers will be especially painful, I expect.

Speaking of which, I’m told that last year, the hotel’s pub (Calahan’s [image, below left]) ran out of beer on the first evening. Literally ran dry of beer. The amount they had on hand they expected was to last the entire week-end. But it was tapped-out after one evening. The pub didn’t re-open until they had received a new delivery from the brewers the next day. This was deemed to be “far too late in the day” and it ought to have re-opened far earlier than 11:00 to quell the complaints.

That’s 11:00 in the morning.

No, that’s not hyperbole.

“It’s quite disturbing how much these people can drink”, as The Velvet Prince says.

I intend to blog from there as access and brain-clarity permit. Here’s hoping.