Monday, March 20, 2006

NIGHT BUS TO DUNDEE (tm)

Mes Amis

Oh.

Dear.

God.

My head hurts. My body hurts. My blood has thinned and my eyes are tiny little pinholes of black surrounded by those good ol' red roadmaps. Yes, I attended LCC this weekend although not in any official capacity. I just wanted a drink. Which has resulted in everyone realising that my passport and my appearance don't match (After an incident a little while ago where I wasn't allowed into a bar without photo ID I keep it nearby just in case) - apparently I look more like Barry Eisler (Probably good for me but maybe bad news for Mr Eisler) or indeed just about anyone else in attendance at LCC than I do me. We have also repeatedly established that I am short (Although in fairness, with people the height of Charlie Williams in attendance, its surely all relative). That I shouldn't drink whiskey. And stories that involve nude Krankies are either very funny or very disturbing. Possibly depending on how much you've had to drink. Oh and John Rickards apparently smells of whelks. Other things I learned: Certain publishing houses, it seems, only employ contortionists. And only the truly privileged folks can wear badges to inform the world that they are friends of the wonderfully talented (I just had a chance to read her very funny debut, Go To Helena Handbasket, on the way home) Donna Moore.

Apparently Sam Neill and Charlotte Rampling were also in attendance at the hotel (quite possibly not for the con) but were unable to pass the Donna Moore test and therefore did not get badges. It was A-List all round, baby (even with Stuart in attendance, who, well done to the clever lad, was in the shortlist for the ITW awards for best first novel)

No one can believe I was bussing it. I can't believe it either. The now infamous NIGHT BUS TO DUNDEE is a noir masterpiece waiting to happen. I will tell you this, though, nowhere is more noir than an empty roadside service station at three in the morning.

So for now I shall dissapear to bed. I have been up on the NIGHT BUS TO DUNDEE and therefore have got very little sleep since yesterday. But it really is the only way to travel if you want screaming children being sick behind you and fat gentlemen snoring beside you while occasionally smacking you with their elbows...

Au revoir

Russel

5 comments:

Charlie Williams said...

Russel - along with the rest of the civilised world, I can't believe you bussed it up to Dundee. You should live 40 miles from Bristol, like me. Much easier.

Wee Jimmy Krankie, ah yes. Thanks for the mental image.

Gary Smith said...

I've bussed overnight from London to Dundee before - not fun! Still, it gives you something to write about...

Stuart MacBride said...

And think of all the diseases you can catch!

Oh, and don't worry too much about the J Rickards Esq. comparative height test. He's a dirty, whelky, lying sod ;}#

Sandra Ruttan said...

Well, I've taken the bus from Nanaimo to Calgary, and that isn't fun either.

Though my worst transit experiences have all been on ferries. France to Ireland, Ireland to France...

Cornelia Read said...

Have taken the night bus from Phuket to Bangkok, and had the seat right above the exhaust leak. Bummer.