The aconvention was set in the most fantastic hotel;
any horror film director would wet their pants for the place. Over
the course of the weekend, in the main lobby, a gynaecologist's
exam, a homeopathy conference, a military vehicle appreciation society
and a fashion show for Confetti magazine all took place in the main
lobby while we sauntered through looking for aconvention events.
In one room, people would discuss the relevance of art as a reaction
to terrorism and the nature of terrorism itself while ten steps
away a couple of hundred people watched girls catwalking in wedding-night
lingerie. Uri Geller could be found talking to a room of people
that seemed to be on the verge of saying in one voice, 'Oh shut
up, just shut up, you silly man.' But no-one did, because everyone
is transfixed by his weird celebrity. I never knew it was an ambition
of mine to see Uri Geller and Pete Wylie on the same night, in the
same bizarre location, until it was fulfilled.
On Saturday, a man in his sixties wearing a blazer and tie with
a picture of a tank on it stood and watched Chloe Poems in her wig
and gingham dressing gown perform her poem 'The Queen sucks Nazi
Cock' - and didn't leave.
The whole weekend had the most vague sense of timing. Events couldn't
start until the audience wandered in, except the audience wouldn't
wander in until the event started.
I have never seen so much technology being used outside of PC World.
People were filming each other filming computer screens that were
being projected onto backdrops being photographed by the artist.
There were talks and discussions and performances and parties and
shows and installations, all involving some mix of space or technology
or politics or philosophy or alcohol or mediaeval prostitutes or
toast or music or film, and all among those weird corridors with
their marble walls and wallpapered ceilings.
The aconvention can be done again and should be done again but
can never be repeated.
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