Weekend In Sherwood
Convention Report

The following is a convention report for A Weekend in Sherwood (WiS), a convention based around the Robin of Sherwood (RoS) series that played on Showtime and Britain's ITV in the early 1980s.  WiS took place July 4-6, 2003 at the Dreaded Holiday Inn of Farmington Hills, MI.  The guests were Jason Connery (Robert of Huntington, the second Robin) and Robert Addie (Sir Guy of Gisburne).  Mark Ryan (Nasir) was supposed to have been the second guest.  However, two weeks before the convention Mark's work schedule kept him from coming, and Robert very kindly took his place.

Note that if you want the report on just the con, rather than the adventure getting there, jump to Friday.

Preparing for the Con

Originally I had planned to leave for Weekend in Sherwood at 8 a.m. on Friday, and to arrive at the con by about noon.

Plans have a way of changing.

It started on Wednesday night, when my sweetie Chris and I spent a couple hours trying to get his car window back on track, thus cutting out the time I’d meant to spend washing garb (medieval clothing) before the con.  Despite almost completely disassembling the door (which I was taught how to do by my mechanic oldest brother), we never did manage it.  When the car went in to the dealership the next day, they couldn’t figure out how it had gotten off track, either.

Wednesday gone.

I had intended to spend Thursday in packing, cleaning the house, and giving my key to a friend so she could feed the cats.  However, I realized that I had some lovely braid pictures on a ¾-finished roll in my camera.  I was sure I could finish off the roll by the simple expedient of braiding my own hair into some of the styles that I needed better pictures of. 

I enlisted the help of my friend, Fabien (who is the cocky Frenchman on the “Other Examples” page, who said I couldn’t braid hair as short as his).  I felt secure, knowing that this project would, at most, take an hour or so.  I hadn’t taken into the account the lure of meeting Fabien’s new sweetie if I stayed around.  I finally left at about 9 p.m..

Well, never mind that.  I still had plenty of time, all the rest of Thursday evening.  I just wished I would be around on Friday evening to see the local fireworks.  Of course, the BIG firework display in town was that night, Thursday.  I might be able to see some of them from my back porch.  By 10 p.m., I was sitting on my car a couple miles from my place, packed in with a couple thousand other people in hundreds of cars down by the main branch of the post office, watching the downtown fireworks. 

I’ll have you know, I did in fact manage to do almost all of my packing (except for the clothing I realized I still needed to hand wash) that evening.  That just left cleaning the cat boxes, doing the dishes, measuring out the food my friend would feed them over the weekend, cleaning the counters (which turned into sweeping the floors as well), and packing the car.  I got all but the last done before breakfast Friday morning – which I finally ate at about 10 a.m..  Next all I had to do was drop my key off with my friend on the way out of town.  A five-minute trip.

At 11 a.m. I finally tore myself away from chatting with my friend and set out for Michigan.

Friday

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  It was one of those times when you think of cheesy clichés to distract you from the fact that you can barely see the car 20 feet in front of you through the pouring rain and allow you to ignore the fact that your arms are getting tired fighting the gusts of wind trying to slam your car into the next lane.  So many people pulled to the side of the highway that it looked like downtown curbside parking.  I finally arrived at the con hotel at about 3:30 p.m..

If you were at the con, or have talked to anyone who was, you’ll know that the service at the hotel was terrible.  Despite not having any of the real service horror stories a number of others had about this wonderful Holiday Inn, I realized the caliber of service within two minutes.

I walked up to the desk.  The lobby was empty except for myself and the one person at the desk.  He started to help me, then the phone rang.  Instead of asking the person on the phone to hold, he started helping them and proceeded to do so for the next 10 minutes.  In that time, three people came and got behind me in line.  Five minutes after the phone rang, another person came to the desk and asked if she could help someone.  The three people behind me dove for her, leaving me stranded with the Man on the Phone. 

Eventually, however, I got my key, transported my luggage – including the kitchen sink – to my hotel room, and set off to find the con.  I decided against putting on garb, as I was still hot and sweaty.  I had no intention of getting signatures.  It’s silly.  Instead, I took my braid books and went seeking people to braid.

As it turns out, the autograph room was almost directly downstairs from me.  The people waiting in line in garb were visible from the balcony overlooking the humid, chlorine-scented pool area.  I headed down to the sultry pool level, where I met my roommate, Rina.  She was tall and blonde, in the way that only Northern Europeans can be.  She didn’t loom, but she did tower.  She said she was going to the dealer’s room to get pictures for the guests to sign, and I decided to tag along to find out where that part of the convention space was.  I couldn’t afford to spend extra money at the con, so obviously I wasn’t going to buy anything myself.

In the dealer’s room was a vast array of Robin of Sherwood pictures – some taken directly from the show, some candids taken by the other cast members, some taken by con-goers at previous conventions.  I was surprised to find that the smaller ones were a mere $2 each.  I rolled my fortitude save – and got a two.  Two pictures, that is.  As long as I had the pictures, I might as well get them signed, so I trotted back to the autograph room. 

It was awkward, as one (or at least I) always feels upon meeting someone for the first time, especially when the person or persons you are meeting are sitting at a table signing autographs.  Still, neither introduction had the psychological impact of meeting, say, Maire Brennan of Clannad, whose voice I wanted to have when I was a child (the self same child to whom I felt myself mentally revert when I actually did meet her in December 1995).  Robert Addie (who played the Sheriff of Nottingham’s deputy, Sir Guy of Gisburne on Robin of Sherwood) was kind enough to assure me that I wasn’t being nearly so much a prat as I felt like when I teased him about having been in A Hazard of Hearts.  (Who should be more vaguely embarrassed – him for having acted in it, or me for having both read the book and watched the movie, hmm?)

While waiting in the line that formed to have pictures taken with the guests I met Katie, whom I’d met a few months previously on the RoS list.  She had short, bouncy dark brown hair and a bubbly personality to match.  Oddly enough, she was much calmer in person than I had imagined based on her emails.  She very kindly used her camera to take a picture of me with Robert Addie and Jason Connery (the second Robin).  Between the autograph session and the photography session I’d cooled off sufficiently to get into garb, and had decided to wear my hair down with the ensemble.  When I stepped between Robert and Jason, Robert immediately picked up my hair, exclaiming over it as he draped it over his neck.  This was a prelude of drooling-over-hair-type-things to come.

After getting my picture I met Robin and Lucky the famous world-traveling duck.  Lucky sported a jester’s cap that fit him perfectly, wire rim spectacles, and buttons down his front, if I remember correctly.  Robin had dark skin – perhaps Native American and African American heritage? – and a sly twinkle in her eye.  She announced that she had promised to take Lucky traveling with her and take pictures of him for the person who had made him.  I was most obliged to be arranged into a picture with the friendly duo, again assisted in this endeavor by the charming Katie.  After she took one, Rina did as well, with Kati in the picture.

After a brief dinner we headed back to the main function space for the Herne, Jr. Archery Competition.  This consisted of a fair number of full grown adults using 18” long plastic bows and appropriate arrows to shoot at pictures of the evil (and some merely bad) characters in Robin of Sherwood – oh, and Kevin Costner, who should have been worth the most points.  We had a couple practice rounds before the guests returned from their own hurried dinner.  I was first to go in the actual competition, and I am heartily glad that the guests came only in time to see the last half of my shoot.  We each got to shoot five arrows for the competition, though any that didn’t go beyond the chair we stood behind could be re-shot.

I have always longed to have Judi Trott’s (Maid Marion)  grace and hair.  Instead, I emulated her skill with the bow.  I attempted to shoot upwards of ten times, with the arrows doing everything from flipping to simply dropping to the ground.  To be fair, I did manage to hit a couple of pictures, earning myself 6 points.  I felt pretty chuffed until I realized that the winners had scores in the 20s.  However, plenty of others had difficulty similar to mine, though none so personally mortifying, and much hilarity ensued.

For some reason, Robert took exception to his character, Sir Guy of Gisburne, being the highest-point picture.  He slagged Jason terribly when Jason knocked down the picture of Guy.  On his own turn, Robert aimed at, “that smug bastard,” the Abbot Hugo.

I feel sorry for the Canadians.  The first couple had difficulties similar to my own, and after that people who had a great deal of trouble were teased that they must be Canadian – despite the fact that one of the Canadians did quite well.  However, the Canadians gave as good as they got, and all was well.  As we found out, it was not enough to aim.  Actually, aiming seemed downright detrimental.

After the archery tournament we rearranged the chairs for the mixer.  Here was our chance to ask all manner of questions in an informal setting.  Thus we did, but heck if I can remember most of them.  I remember getting bored, grabbing a stranger (who I later learned was named Annette Vogel) and forcing her to submit to a braid. 

I think it was at the mixer that Jason Connery did his finger trick.  By rubbing his thumb and forefinger he can make a buzzing/thrumming noise that, when his fingers are next to the ear of an unsuspecting victim, sounds rather alarmingly like a very large bug of some sort.  I was glad to see I wasn’t the only one who jumped when he crept up behind someone.  Jason, despite his forty years, is still very much the light-hearted boy who loves playing innocent pranks.  He has a very easy-going temper, and was amused rather than offended when I asked what he thought of his dad winning the bad accent award.  He also very patiently explained what he could about Jackie Chan’s hair trick from Shanghai Noon, in which Jason played the princess’s tutor/abductor.

For years my friends have joked that my braid is somewhat lethal, and that I should tie weights to the end of it to add to its effectiveness.  In the Jackie Chan moving Shanghai Noon, there is a stunt he does first with his braid, and then later with a rope and horseshoe.  The braid/rope seemed to whip out as quickly as a snake strike, hit the target, and return to its resting place around Jackie’s neck.  The first time I saw the movie I desperately wanted to know if it was possible to do that in real life, or if it was purely a product of movie magic.  From what Jason said, it looks more impressive because of movie magic, but that Jackie really was doing that.  He wasn’t able to clearly explain the actual technique, unfortunately.  Jason agreed that it was very revealing about my personality that I wished to learn to attack people with my braid.

I developed a theory when the talk turned to politics.  Very quickly, Robert Addie requested that we not talk about politics.  It was clear that it wasn’t because it bored him, but because he felt so strongly about what was going on that it put him on the edge of bursting to talk about.  It got me wondering if the reason countries are run the way they are is that they are run by business men and women who don’t care on a human level what happens to people – meanwhile, the people who care on a human level are too overwhelmed to be able to deal with governing and politics.

Onwards towards about 11 p.m. I decided I should do my hair in a crown braid while I was still conscious so I didn't have to try to braid in the morning before I led the workout, “Sherwood Like to Be in Shape.”  (Thanks to Scott Snyder for the name – I didn’t even get it until I read it aloud.).  To avoid drawing attention to myself, I sat quietly on the floor the middle of a circle containing one of the guests and quietly, modestly, and totally inconspicuously released my locks, brushed them out, and rebraided them, never noticing in the slightest the attention I got as people wondered how I could do a crown braid on myself without a mirror.

Ok, who am I fooling?  I loved it!  Even if I was being an attention-hogging prig, I loved every minute of basking in the glow, and I…!!.... and I hope that I didn't make too much of an ass of myself.  Doing things deliberately to draw attention towards myself is a pet peeve of mine - and I did it CONSTANTLY this weekend.  I couldn't seem to stop.  The braiding, the singing, the banjo playing, the knitting – all were attention-getting devices.  Sorry, folks.

Still, it’s a rather good thing I did braid my hair on Friday night, since our turned-on alarm swapped places through the wall with Annette’s turned-off alarm clock.  I know ours was set because I checked it twice.  Nevertheless, ours did not go off; Annette’s did.

I had wanted to go to the filking, but decided against it as I had to get up to do the workout at 8 a.m..  However, I thought it would be polite to tell Rache I wasn’t going to be at the filk sing, since she had specifically asked if I was going to be there.  I knew I was tired when I caught myself carrying my nightgown to the filk room with me.  Not going meant that I missed hearing Robert Addie doing a dramatic reading of Rache’s “Just an Ordinary Guy,” but it was for the best.

Saturday

Saturday morning began with Rina’s voice saying, “Didn’t you mean the alarm to go off at 7?”  I looked at the alarm clock in question and read “7:20” on its face.  I dashed down some food, pulled on clothes, grabbed the videos and a bottle of water and dashed to my car.  In the car was the pickle barrel containing 56 lbs. of weights.  I parked in front of the hotel, near the room where my workout was to be.  When I got to the room, hauling the weights, I found a note on the door reading, “Sherwood Like to Be in Shape has been moved to the Norwich Room.”  The Norwich Room.  Where the hell was the Norwich Room?  Ten minutes later I had managed to find the room, have a member of the hotel staff open it for me, and stacked the chairs so that we had some floor space.

At ten past eight, the first hearty exercisers arrived, and soon after we began our workout.  The last person arrived just in time to enjoy the last 12 minutes of the workout – and gave me grief about the exercise instructions, to boot!  If someone is going to give me grief about such things, he should at least have the decency to show up early enough so that I can mock him for being exhausted after a simple workout.  Lazybones.  I was delighted, however, that a whole five people actually showed up.  I had had my doubts that I would see anyone.

I missed Janet’s archery workshop, but made it to part of the one on religion in RoS.  It was rather interesting, and much exceeded my expectations.

At noon everyone settled in for the guest panel.  Understand that Rina had come to Weekend in Sherwood to meet Mark Ryan, who was originally one of the scheduled guests, and for whom she runs a fan website.  Halfway through the panel, they dialed up Mark on the speakerphone.  People took turns going up to the speakerphone and asking him questions.  As they were about to wrap up, and Rina had made no move to approach the phone, I said, “Rina’s here, and I believe she wanted to talk to you, Mark.”  If looks could kill, I would have been instantly converted to a lump of softly sizzling personfat.  However, afterwards Rina confessed that the stomach trouble she’d been having all morning miraculously cleared up after talking with Mark.  *grin*  Aren’t nerves a wonder?

I was actually quite disappointed Mark hadn't come.  Rina had mentioned on the RoS list that she was afraid that when she met him, she was going to forget all of her English and start babbling in Dutch.  I had planned to get a Dutch-English translation dictionary and hand it to her just before she met him.

One thing that struck me during the panel was how much Robert Addie kept slamming himself and his friends.  In my experience, this is generally the sign of a person who doesn’t think well of himself or herself, which is sad because he struck me very much as a good-hearted person who was so used to being put down or humiliated that he’d internalized it, and tried to pass off self-loathing as sharp-edged, bitter jokes.  Throughout the con I got the sense that he was not so different from Gisburne as might be expected – the potential for great goodness, warped by pain that he has yet to overcome and to learn to love himself.   He’s a good person – I don’t like the perception that he’s bleeding inside.  (Which means I should probably just get over the “perception” nonsense, because it’s probably a load of hogwash.)  </armchair psychoanalysis>

I think I spent the next several hours braiding people before the banquet.  I love conventions of this sort – it always seems as if almost everyone present has braidable hair.  It allows me to have fun and experiment if I want to. 

Afterwards, I went down for pavanne practice.  We went through the dance a number of times, then we broke for a bit before the banquet began.  To kill time, I wandered into the bar to talk to Pen, Sherry-Lea (Jason’s girlfriend, who had flown in specially for Saturday only) and someone else I recognized; the memory of who that other person was has been entirely blown from my memory by surprise.  While we were talking, Robert Addie came up behind me, picked up the bottom ten or fifteen inches of my hair, which I’d left down, and snorted it.  “God, it even smells good!”  I was extremely amused.  Oddly enough, his attention was so focused on my hair that he didn’t seem to be hitting on me (I may just be naïve), and I didn’t feel at all threatened.  Thus, I was thoroughly amused, and very pleased to have my hair admired.  Pander to my vanity?  Oh, please do.  ;-)

The banquet was excellent.  I have never been to a convention banquet that was this much fun.

The guests were piped into the banquet hall, resembling nothing so much as Scottish lords and their ladies coming to dine.  After they were seated, we (the dancers) entered to perform the pavanne.  At the beginning of Herne’s Son (the first of the RoS episodes with Jason Connery), Guy, Robert of Huntington, and Marion (among others) do a pavanne while holding lit candles in their hands.  It is a beautiful dance, full of grace, great for showing off long hair, and with lovely music besides.  I always wished I could be part of it, my hair swirling beautifully like Marion’s did. 

Well, I finally got my wish.  Check the next item on my list of “things I never thought I would get to do,” right up there with participating in the Jewish wedding dance in which the couple are picked up on chairs (which I got to dance  a couple years ago now).  I’m sure everyone in the room could see the huge grin on my face as we interwove the pattern of the dance.

There was a drawing to see who would get to sit at the head table with the guests.  I was delighted to see that Rina was one of the winners.  Apparently the other person to sit at head table also traveled all the way from Europe.  It was fitting that people who had gone through so much effort to come should be recognized by random lottery.  Rina in particular had traveled all the way from the Netherlands, only to miss out on seeing the one person she really wanted to meet.  It was great to see her beaming from head table in that lovely hand-embroidered chemise and sideless surcoat.  ;-)

One thing that had startled me was finding out that Robert Addie’s real accent was nothing like Guy of Gisburne’s.  All through Friday and part of Saturday, it felt like something was missing.  I’d looked forward to seeing a bit of the baddie who we all knew and loved to be at odds with.  Without the right accent, something felt … lacking.  During the feast, someone proposed a toast to the health of our guests, to which everyone drank most heartily.  At the head table, Rob stood up, and said in his own accent, “a toast to your health as well,” then dropped into Guy’s accent and tone, “Serf.”  The room howled and cheered.  The void had been filled.  It’s really silly how something so simple can make my day, but it really did.

During the feast the drinking started.  Robin brought in a bright, almost glowingly bright, blue drink called a Blue Motorcycle, and most people at the table took her up on the offer to try a sip.  It was sweet and with a rather peculiar taste.  It was one of those dangerous drinks that you know must be strong because you can barely taste the alcohol.  Katie particularly enjoyed it, and after about five minutes of asking whether she should be so stupid as to start one on an empty stomach, trotted off to the bar to get her own.

Throughout the banquet, Robert Addie played the part of the gracious host, making sure everyone felt welcome.  Whilst the head table was going up to the buffet line, he took the time to go around to talk to each table.  When he appeared behind me, I was startled; I thought that my chair was in his way to the buffet table and attempted to scramble out of his way before I realized he was visiting each table.  That was really thoughtful of him.

Someone at the head table produced a drinking horn from which each person at head table drank . . . or attempted to drink, anyway.  Apparently, there’s a trick to it.  Ah, the joys of not being at head table, and not having everyone stare at you as you attempt to eat neatly.  As clumsy as I am (and as I displayed myself to be at the banquet), I am quite happy not to have been on display.

As it turns out, we were one of the last tables to go up to the buffet line.  This left plenty of time for the alcohol to get into Katie’s almost-no-food-all-day bloodstream.  It was pretty amusing.  In the meantime, I was overflowing with hyper energy and sang songs softly to burn it off.  (Actually, I was doing this all weekend.  I’m still not sure if it was purely a “look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me!” reaction, or simply an overflow of joy.  One way or another, I simply could not contain myself.)

After seeing the vast enjoyment Robin and Katie were deriving from their distilled beverages, I decided it had been a good long time since I’d had any alcohol and trotted off to the bar to buy myself a coke with amaretto.  There I was reminded why I almost never go to bars, especially not in hotels: I am An Cheap Bastard.  Six dollars for a tiny drink…..  I’ll make my own next time, thanks.  Still, it was good.

It may have been the drink, though I don’t think so.  I’d only had a quarter of the cup when I began ruminating over the fact that when I got home, my boyfriend would ask if I’d had a good time.  The devilish thought crept into my head that I should show him just what a good time I’d had.  I asked Katie if she would oblige me by taking a couple more pictures of me with the guests and she agreed.  I walked up to Robert Addie first, as he was conveniently available.

“Excuse me, but would you be willing to pose with me in a semi-scandalous picture to show my boyfriend what a good time I had?”

“How semi-scandalous?” he asked, then as I shrugged, got behind me and picked me up á la cute teenage couple picture.

Jason Connery likewise obliged me, doing a different cute couple pose.  I either struck him as being very odd or amused him – he mentioned the whole plan to show the pictures to my boyfriend again the next day as we were saying goodbye.

After the banquet itself was over, but whilst everyone was still in the room, they announced that since there had been only two entries to the costume contest, they had thrown the competition open and judged everyone at the banquet.  The winner of third place was myself, for (I hope) my costume, as well as “braiding everyone at the convention, and having the most incredibly sexy hair,” as Robert announced.  I like this man.  Pander to my vanity, oh please do….

I went up to the award and did the European cheek-kiss thing with Jason Connery while receiving my award from him.  Keep in mind, I’ve only in the past six or seven years come to be used to this custom with my boyfriend’s family.  This is the first time I’d performed the ritual with a stranger.  My reaction?  Woo hoo!  ;-)  My god, I’m turning into a lecher…..

After the banquet, all and sundry wandered over to the bar.  I was going to get some water this time, to spare my bank account.  Robin complained that she had no one to drink with (despite the fact that at least half of the con members in the bar had drinks) and very kindly bought me a glass of wine.  She herself bought a very suspicious-looking, purplish red drink whose name I’ve forgotten; Katie got a second Blue Motorcycle, which she eventually gave away to someone.  The person across the table from me took a picture of me holding all three, looking as if I were poised to drink all three at once.  Thanks to Russ Herschler for that picture!

The bar closed at a stupidly early 10 p.m., at which most people proceeded with Jason and his lady to watch the blooper tape for all three seasons.  It’s one thing to watch the blooper tape – it’s quite another to watch it with someone who shows up in them.  I’m not sure which was funnier – watching the screen or his face.

After that finished I proceeded to the filking, which had been moved this evening to the Carlisle room.  Robert again made an appearance and did two dramatic readings of filk songs – one of them was, “Just an Ordinary Bat,” a parody of the song he’d read the night before, this one based on Forever Night, and a Sherwood song to the tune of Bedlam Boys.  Bedlam Boys is a light, airy, bouncy tune with very odd lyrics.  Hearing such a tune read seriously, dramatically, and with great skill had me in stitches. 

Late in the evening – about quarter to three in the morning – Rache led a song that had a line in the chorus, “we are the sun where the sun doesn’t shine.”  My sleep-clouded mind produced only one thought: “that must hurt.”  I started giggling helplessly and realized it was time for me to go to bed.

Sunday

I ended up being unable to fall asleep until after 4 a.m., then suddenly woke up, thoroughly and completely, and entirely against my will, at 7:30 a.m.  My alarm was set for 9:30.  After a brief struggle to fall back asleep, I got up and packed, then went down to breakfast.

I decided to go down for (to me) traditional Sunday Morning Breakfast at the Con, and sat down with Annette, Tirza, and Roeland (who I haven’t actually mentioned in this con report at all, unless I go back and add them to the second draft; they’re great people.  Annette even lent me a bit of leather to tie my hair for the banquet.  The belt for the banquet I’d borrowed from Kitty, who I’ve also neglected to describe.)  I ordered an orange juice and yoghurt. 

After waiting for an hour in the nearly-empty restaurant, I decided to go get the food I’d already packed in my car.  When I came back in to offer some to my tablemates, I found Robert Addie sitting in what had been my seat, Tirza gone, and the waitress/restaurant manager sitting in Tirza’s chair taking orders.  I decided to go for the restaurant meal after all, and we soon had a fine and merry party at the table.

After breakfast, I sat in the lobby playing my banjo.  I’d brought it in hopes of a Michigan friend of mine and I going to a local Irish music session on Sunday night, and I wasn’t about to leave it in my boiling-hot trunk for several hours.  I really need to get back in the habit of practicing regularly again.  The three and a half hours of sleep didn’t help a great deal, but I was starting to play tolerably (I think) by the time I finally put it away for the Major Oak Awards, which are awards for excellence in writing stories and creating artwork for Robin of Sherwood fan magazines.  There are many different categories, and are judged by anyone who reads any of the fanzines and wants to submit a ballot.

It turns out that Gail Molnar, the young woman who had been my partner in the pavanne, won (I think) more awards than did anyone else; by her fifth or sixth award I was offering to go find her a printer paper box to store them all in.  I’m really curious now to see her work.  Rina also won an award for a story she wrote - in English!  Would that I could write as well in a foreign language.

At the Charity Auction, Robert co-opted Jason to be runner for the items, starting with a doll of Robert of Huntington.  Jason showed it off with pride and great amusement.  Next came the Robin of Loxley doll, which he showed off with a great deal of mock-disgust and disregard.

At filk convention Interfilk Auctions, the runners are all women scantily dressed (with occasional men volunteering to help when there are two women bidding against each other) who run back and forth between bidders, sitting in their laps, and otherwise trying to tempt them into bidding higher just to keep the runners running.  I suggested to Jason he should do this.  He didn’t, quite, but when a picture book came to the block, he ran back and forth between the two bidders, opening the book to different pages each time with a flourish.  No really spectacular bidding wars (I don’t think any item topped $200), but it was a great deal of fun nevertheless.

I think it was at the closing ceremonies that the guests each described their most embarrassing moment in acting.  For Robert, it was the first scene in which he appeared as Mordred in Excalibur.  This is how he described it, to the best of my recollection.

For Jason Connery, it was The Venetian Woman.  They were preparing to do a sex scene, and Jason was lying in front of the camera, starkers. 

 After closing ceremonies, I went back to the dealer’s room to allow myself once more to be tempted by a beautiful dusky purple two-piece halter top and wrap-around pants.  After rushing around trying to get people to talk me out of it (with no success) and realizing that I really couldn’t afford it right now, I decided to get some pictures of it and try to talk my sweetie into buying it for my birthday.  (It didn’t work, and I ended up waiting a few weeks and putting it on credit card.  Stupid, stupid Mary!)  Katie, Roeland, and Annette were most obliging in this endeavor.

After a quick round of goodbyes – in which I missed both Katie and Rina, I’ve no idea where they vanished to – I set out to visit my friend in Pontiac, MI.  On the way from the hotel, I passed an entire subdivision named for the characters of Robin Hood legend.  In the end I got home at 12:08 a.m. Monday morning, by which time I was seeing movement that wasn’t there out of the corners of my eyes.  Driving while exhausted is always so . . . interesting. 

So now I’m recovered, and excited about going to the next RoS convention in 2005.  Hope to see you there!

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