{"id":2915,"date":"2016-09-27T11:12:59","date_gmt":"2016-09-27T11:12:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=2915"},"modified":"2016-09-29T13:06:11","modified_gmt":"2016-09-29T13:06:11","slug":"fantasycon-the-truth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/fantasycon-the-truth\/","title":{"rendered":"Fantasycon – The Truth"},"content":{"rendered":"

As Samuel Johnson<\/strong> once said, \u201cWhen a man is tired of Scarborough, he is tired of being attacked and defaecated on by the equivalent of a homicidal turkey which is willing to fight you for your lunch.\u201d<\/em> And so it went at Fantasycon<\/strong><\/span>, especially for those gentle souls who weren’t brought up on the North Sea coast. It is telling that no gulls dared come near me or the Editor-in-Chief. They sensed the East Yorkshireman’s natural talent for wringing their necks and selling them to Gordon Ramsey as ‘sea-pheasants’.<\/p>\n

\"the<\/a>
the noble sea-pheasant, with its delightful cry of ‘where’s my soddin’ chips, then?’<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

So, gosh. I went to a convention. Time for lots of diplomatic name-dropping, and anecdotes about how we shook hands with a woman who almost touched Joe Hill’s<\/strong> luggage, how we conjured the shade of David Gemmell<\/strong> for malign purposes, and how we rigged the voting\u2026<\/p>\n

No, we’re not really fussed about all that. We met people. They were cool. We didn’t have to use either of the concealed chainsaws. We had far bigger concerns at the convention:<\/p>\n