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  • Writer's pictureNir Yaniv

The Glasgowits, Part VI: Closing Time

And after the storm finally died and the wind settled down and the darkness melted into light and the horrible deeds of dark times became mere memories, we ate a hamburger. This became our morning practice several days ago, since the food at the convention site itself isn’t something to write home about, unless one would like to combine real poetry with terms so far restricted to the field of geology. Said hamburger was being had at the central train station, which is practically around and underneeth our hotel, and this was a Good Thing, for who was there, waiting for the train, if not China Mieville himself. He and I exchanged some warm words and then our ways parted, for Guy and I were going to the convention site for the last time. By the time we arrived, the convention was in advanced stages of closing-out. Guy, who forgot to bring his con-tag the day before and thus had to deposit 25 pounds in order to get a temporary new one, had to use all his Israeli-training in order to get his money back. He told me so himself, because I spent that time chatting with people who just bought some art for the kind of money I could use to buy another motorcycle or two. It’s a bit sad, seeing a convention closing down, but hey – nothing lasts forever. We spent some time in the Moathouse hotel lobby with some of the Israeli gang, finding out, to our distress, that Didi managed to buy another G. R. R. Martin T-shirt, and that Assaf got himself some Manga-Barbies, may someone have mercy on his soul. Then, having said goodbye to everyone, we went tripping about the city of Glasgow, buying food only occasionally. The light was fading as the Tremendous Trio, having had much less quality time to itself than expected, commenced upon a dinner in a very good italian restaurant, and then went on to the nearest pub, and then, when it closed, to another pub, accompanied by honorary member Nicola, who by now probably regrets some of her pictures I took. We found out that one of us is a pyromaniac, but I shall not reveal who. By the time our ways parted, Lavie has had so much fun that he actually stopped complaining, and Guy had so much fun that he actually started to complain, but got trodded upon by your humble servant and thus stopped before it turned into anything serious. Guy is now on his way to Ireland, I will be on my way to London shortly, and from there back home, to which I hope to arrive, somewhat unlike cinderella, a bit before midnight.

It has been a fabulous convention and a great vacation.

Now I need some rest.

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