Meet
Monday 6 August 2007
Arrival
I arrive at Great Portland Street in good time. By the time I get there, a fashionably non-chalant seven minutes tardy, there are a few others hanging about the station. I spend three minutes laughing with a small group of Italian women until I figure out that they are not from TSR. Eventually, I recognise Zaf (Soc) a little way off, so I say ciao to my friends and trundle off to meet the awkward internet people. I say hello to lots of people. I see a sign on a lampost that says if you see anything suspicious, report it to the British Transport Police. I toy with the eye of reporting Jacob's sideburns, but really I know I am just envious. After waiting, we hit Tesco's and the Park.
Regent's
Dan and I lead the group into the park, but they split off without us. Eventually we trace them back underneath a large tree, presumably because Bex hadn't brought the SPF 4000 cream she needed. I unleash my magic carpet, and whip out the cake. It doesn't go down as well as I had hoped. My tasty pudding is put to shame by Will's chocolates, Jacob's flapjacks, and Warren and Rachel's masterpiece (tiffin was it?). A promotions women has the audacity to interrupt our meeting with the promise of free water. We naively accept, only to find each bottle consists of death and sewage. I still drink it. Some pictures are taken. Claire's face transforms as if by magic into a pout at the sound of a camera shutter. A small group make a break for it from the rest of us, with the terribly transparent and clearly false excuse of, 'We need to buy a tour guide...to...uh...New York.' Many of us follow roughly in their wake to buy drinks. There is a minor crisis as all we can find are warm Fosters and a disturbing lack of plastic cups. After going through what seems a number of Herculean obstacles, I finally get the plastic cups. All is well. We return and Will decides to play frisbee with me (Note: not as in use me as a frisbee, but participate in a game of frisbee with me).
He is rubbish.
Jacob joins in to try and help things along, but after a while, I think everyone gets tired of Will hitting people with the flying disk, and so we call it a day in order to preserve public saftey and Will's dignity. In chatting to people, I find that Katie is from Berkshire too. I'm not sure I believe her though; I've never seen her about after all. A remarkable amount of my time talking to her is spent trying not to look up her dress.
Things simmer down to a low sizzle, and as conversation becomes lethargic, people take the opportunity to have a go at my voice/hat. Eventually, I head over to the lavatories. A man starts using the cubicle next to me and whistles a few bars from Jean de Florette, and such is my fear I have to make a quick dash out. I meet with Zaf and Dan, and we wait for Claire and Becs. I wonder why they are taking so long. Dan confides that it's because they are 'masturbation buddies.' I make a note to myself to ask them whether this is infact the case. Eventually, we decide to make a move for le pub. Someone has a nosebleed. I want to go see, but apparently it's badform.
Pub
We arrive, and it is very busy. There are more people in the pub than there are questions in H&R about 'Will I get pregnant from a blowjob!!!!?!1' I order the same pint as Jacob, recognising that £1.09 is a bargain, but perhaps underestimating how dire it will taste. Team TSR manage to commandeer a table, and have populated it with admirable skill, bringing chairs/bags/drunkenpatrons from far flung corners of the building to sit on. A small group remain standing. This gets tiring, and although for the last 5 minutes I have been cultiating a devil-may-care stance, but eventually we decide to sit down. The only seats are at the games machines, where we do reasonably well. Becs and I chat for a while, try to get a seat, but get booted off by a woman who would have looked a bit like Martha Stewart if Martha Stewart had tattood her entire body. Finally, I lead the way to getting a table from some old people. One geriatric didn't want to move, but a pint glass to the head makes up his mind for him. At this point, people start peeling off from the group like skin from a bad sunburn. I manage to hug pretty much everyone, in what is, in hindsight, perhaps more me trying to feel people up then any real desire to show affection. We chat long into the night, and I know I am at a good TSR meet when the dead baby jokes get churned out again. Eventually, I leave. Everyone gets up to say goodbye, and some people say things like, 'we will never forget you,' or, 'I want to be you.'
Home
Claire has given me directions. Remarkably, they are spot on, and I make it back fine. I have to stop under a light to look at my handy A-Z and confirm I am going the right way. A yobbish youth calls me a tourist. I am very angry. I tell him that I am from the Home Counties, but he doesn't seem to care, and hits me. I am not the only one with a nosebleed that night. The trouble starts at the station though (and this bit is actually true). I sit down on a fairly empty train. A very lanky man comes and sits beside me. He's so tall at first I think he is Dan, but it's just a mentallist. I wonder why he has chosen to sit next to me, in an otherwise deserted carriage. 'What are you reading?' he says. I don't even have a book near me. I wonder whether I could jump over the seat in front of me before he could grab my ankles. All I can think to say in response, not wanting to encourage him is, 'ughhgghh'. He seems to accept this though, and spends the rest of the half hour journey drumming on the seat in front. I am relieved to arrive in jolly old Reading.
I get home, and I go on TSR.
posted by danny @ 08:29,
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