Easy?
A friend once told me that ‘Life is easy’. Her words exactly. ‘Life … is … easy.’
Bollocks.
***
Next weekend I’m going to Stafford for the British Fantasy Convention. I’m looking forward to it a HUGE amount … two days of catching up with old friends, drinking, chatting, making contacts, watching panels (and heckling as much as possible), buying books, drinking, eating now and then but, mostly, drinking. Watching the sun come up whilst still pissed in the hotel bar is quite a disturbing, panicky experience, but it’s also one that no Con would be complete without. Trying to smother a hangover with greasy fry-up food, ditto.
What I love most about these dos is that you can take up on a conversation where you left off three years ago, and it all feels so natural! Perhaps because you were drunk then and drunk now, so every utterance is so nonsensical as to mean completely nothing at all. Easy to see the import of nonsense when one is drunk.
Two days without worries, stresses and concerns. Time to put the kids to bed? Oh, hang on, they’re 200 miles away!!! Still pushed on that novel deadline? Fuck it, I’ll have another Theakston’s Old Peculiar.
Yes. I’m looking forward to the weekend. Because for two days my mate will be right: life will, indeed, be easy.
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