Pandemonium

Part 4: Homeward Bound - Dec. 1st, 2003.

The mood was somewhat downbeat in the morning as we were all about to say goodbye and go our separate way. 8-( We were also sorry to say goodbye to Patrice who was wonderful. I'd said, before I left home, that even if none of the guests showed up, we'd still have a great time because when F.D.A.S. members get together, we always do. Well, at least the guests did turn up, and even though the organization was a shambles, we'd all had some good times over the weekend.

Looking back, I think the main problem stemmed from a lack of relevant experience. The organizers had previously run a very successful convention for 250 people, so I'm told, and I presume they thought that all they had to do was multiply by three and add a bit more to cater for eight hundred. Unfortunately, it ain't that simple. 8-(

I really do feel for the organizers as well the fans. They must have been looking forward to a happy and successful weekend as much as we were, and to see it all fall apart must have been very depressing. Hopefully, they will have learnt something from the experience, and also from the feedback, and maybe their next venture will run much more smoothly. Hope so! 8-)

On to the journey home. We braved the Parisian taxi service again. Oh, I forgot to mention that on Friday night, after the meal at the Hippopotamus, the buses had stopped running so we were obliged to use taxis again. As there were several of us, we needed two taxis. We managed to explain where we wanted to go to the first taxi driver on the rank, and while luggage was being stowed, Mary approached the taxi behind. She was told he wasn't prepared to take us. The next taxi also refused our custom. We had no idea why. Because the hotel was in a dodgy area? (It wasn't.) Because we were Brits.? Mary strongly suspected it was because she's from Nigeria... Racist bastards if so. }8-(

The first taxi driver interceded on our behalf, telling them that one of them should take us, and asking why they wouldn't, but with no success on either count. He then said he'd come back for us, so we hung around at the taxi rank, noses in the air and ignoring all the other taxis. The friendly driver did indeed return for us and got a very grateful tip for his trouble. Not all Parisian taxi-drivers are rat-bastards! {g}

The drivers who took us back to Charles de Gaulle Airport were fine too. There were minor alarums and excursions there because, first of all, there was no trace of our flight on the overhead monitors. Enquiries elicited the information that it was departing from a different terminal. When we arrived there, the monitor had our flight down as boarding already. All was sorted out and we had a little refreshment then went to the departure lounge.

That was fun. All the seats were already taken, and by the young and fit, so we older and decrepit ones had to sit on the floor. I think the P.A. system was a left-over from the French Resistance during World War II. I had vision of René from ' 'Allo, 'Allo' trying to contact Britain - " 'Allo, zis is Night 'awk. Do you read me?" {crackle, crackle, crackle.} Whatever, it only seemed to have two modes, very loud and grungy feedback, or a barely audible whisper. Vive la France! Oy!

Finally, we were herded on to a shuttle bus and boarded the 'plane. Then there was another long delay because they'd discovered that they had one more item of baggage in the hold than they should've had... 8-O Wadj. wondered if it was because she now had two cases instead of the one she started with.

Eventually, we took to the air and the pilot announced that, as we had a tail wind, he hoped we'd arrive in Manchester about on time. The flight was incident free, as far as I was aware at the time. However, after a beautifully smooth landing, I noticed a lot of flashing blue lights as we taxied over to the terminal. At least one was a fire appliance. They seemed to be converging on our 'plane. Then Wadj. said she'd thought she'd smelled something burning when she went to the loo... Eek!

As we were lining up to disembark, Wadj. heard the pilot saying something about everything being under control now. Then, waiting just outside for us to leave the 'plane, were two guys wearing yellow coverall suits with hoods - and breathing apparatus. Ah well, all in a day's work, I guess.

There was another delay, courtesy of Arriva trains, as our connection at Manchester Piccadilly was announced to be running late, the time of the delay finally settling on 45 minutes. It got quite chilly after a while. And that was about that. I had a cup of tea at Wadj.'s, then drove home and promptly went down with a viral infection which, if I was a man, I'd say was 'flu, but as I'm not, it wasn't. {g} Anyhow, I'm much better now, but wa-ay behind with Christmas preparations. Bah, humbug! ;-)

Part 3: The Convention, day 2 - Sunday 30th Nov., 2003.

We went into the CNIT a little later on Sunday as there wasn't a great deal going on in the morning. We were amazed to find the whole place deader than Barnsley in Wakes Week! Everywhere had steel security shutters locked down. There wasn't even anywhere you could get a cup of «thé». Paris also seems to have a serious litter problem. Its appearance is on the seedy side of untidy and we were on the Gorgonzola side of cheesed off.

Someone reminded us that France is a Catholic country. Well, that explained the depressing air of gloom that pervaded the city, but not the scruffiness. Whatever happened to cleanliness is next to Godliness, hein?

As there was nothing to do in the CNIT, we went to explore a little further afield. We found another mall but life was equally extinct there too. The lights were on but there was nobody home. There was also musak playing in the background. No idea why.

After that abortive foray, we made tracks back to the CNIT. Outside there is a market with canvas booths. I hoped I might be able to find some silly little Parisian trinket to bring home as a souvenir for Rod, who was staying at home on cat care duty. Like a good wine, he doesn't travel well, bless him, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have enjoyed the flying experience.

You'd think that in a Parisian market, finding a Parisian trinket would be a doddle, but no. If you want Indian or Chinese or practically any other ethnicity, then your luck was in. Parisian? Not a hope in hell - not even a replica of the Eiffel Tower!

After a while, though, a number of eateries got underway, selling hot food too. I opted for «thé» and a 'sandwich'. What came was one of those baguette things - yeah, what else did I expect? - that I usually avoid like the plague because the filling always falls out. This one was no exception, but at least none of it landed on my clothes. It was hot and tasty though, and very welcome.

Back at the CNIT once more, the first item on the programme that we were interested in was the solo question and answer spot with Sarah Douglas. A this point, we discovered more disorganization. There had been another opening ceremony earlier on and presentation of the guests for day two. (Besides the V.I.P. and weekender tickets, there were also one day tickets.)

After this ceremony, the fans had been told they could leave their coats and bags on the seats, and thus keep to the same seat for the whole day. Later, someone had decided to change this edict, possibly because some of the «Jour 2» people hadn't been aware of the seating arrangements and had occupied the V.I.P. seats - or something. Did they need a reason?

As a result, coats and bags had been collected up and put on the floor in the open area between the stage and the seating. I think I heard someone say that some belongings had been left in the aisles too. And now all the arms of the seats bore little white stickers with ticket numbers in consecutive order written on them in blue biro. I don't think they were there before, but as it was too dark to see when I'd needed to, I might have missed them.

Like that idea was going to work anyway, since people weren't going to leave their friends and hunt around for a seat that matched their ticket number. We weekenders took the path of least resistance and went and sat up at the back. All the doings on stage were being shown on the backdrop beside the guests anyway, so it wasn't as if we'd miss anything.

I'd like to add here that there was a general improvement in organization on Sunday, or in the marshalling at least. A group of English and Dutch fans who'd had experience of stewarding at other conventions had volunteered their services, and an 'Information' point appeared at the main desk. Now, on with the show...

Sarah Douglas is a real charmer, and an entertaining speaker. She also suffers badly from claustrophobia. This was either caused by, or aggravated by, the making of face masks. This is the process where the subject has a couple of straws poked up the nose to breathe through and then has the head covered in plaster to form a mould.

There comes a point at which he or she is completely isolated from the world, unable to see, hear or speak, which some find very unpleasant. Because of this, there is - or should always be - someone holding the subject's hand throughout in order to maintain contact with the outside world. On one occasion, someone let go of Sarah's hand... As a result, she's developed quite a phobia about it.

The most outstanding tale she told, not to say the most mind-boggling, involved having a body cast made for a flying scene as 'Deathwalker' in 'Babylon 5'. This involved leaning on a framework with arms outstretched and legs apart - and wearing nary a stitch of clothing. Then in came a couple of men with pots and brushes, whistling cheerfully, and proceeded to plaster her body all over! I think there was a fair bit of crossing of legs in the audience at the thought.

Then it was decided that the production team wanted her in a different pose for her flying scene, so she had to go through the whole thing again, after which, she said, she didn't have a single hair left anywhere on her body. Whoever said the acting profession was glamorous?! But what a trooper!

Of Arnold Schwarzeneggar, with whom she appeared as Queen Taramis in 'Conan the Destroyer', she said that one had a tendency to tense whenever he came near... She seems to like him though, and you got the impression she could take care of herself pretty well. 8-)

I would have loved to have her autograph - she'd invited people to stop her for a chat if they saw her, as the guests like to get to know the fans - but the consensus up in the gods was that we would be called for autographs later (can't think where the idea of such good organization came from!) so we sat back to enjoy J.R.Bourne's contribution. Sadly, by the time we left the auditorium, she'd already left as she had a 'plane to catch. 8-(

J.R. was asked to recall an embarrassing moment - like those are the things you really like to remember. Anyway, he did recall an occasion at which he was chatting to a familiar face, and remembered that the young lady had been studying zoology. He asked her how her work with animals was going and received a slightly puzzled look. So he checked that she was the person that he'd been chatting to at a charity dinner. (He's an active fund raiser for a cystic fibrosis charity as he has a niece who suffers from the disease.) Yes, he had got the right person but she was a theology student not a zoologist! Oops!

The next guest was Amanda Tapping who was only there for the Sunday. She had long hair extensions at the back which looked very nice, but I think she looks better with short hair as it shows off her eyes much better. She said she expected that she'd have to have it cut off when they start shooting again, but had the slight hope that they'd let her keep it. (Chris Judge also said that he was campaigning to keep his hair in season eight.)

She was asked about her experiences of directing an episode in season seven. This was also the first time the show had had a female director. She described in great detail, and with actions, a particularly ambitious scene with complicated camera angles and movements. You really had to be there for that. Sounds good. 8-) She was very pleased with the way it went and how it turned out. She also enjoyed telling Michael and Chris where to stand and what to do - and they did it! They'd been really co-operative and made her job as easy as possible for which she was extremely grateful. 8-)

Of course, someone just had to ask The 'Shippy Question - is she a 'shipper? There was a very large group of teenage French 'shippers front and centre, so she had to go along with it to a degree, but there was a definite hint of gritted teeth about the smile. "Yes - and no," she said. She loves working with Richard Dean Anderson with whom she has a good working relationship, and thinks there's a lovely rapport and friendship between Jack and Sam, but...

Amanda then went on to point out that they could never and should never be together because of military regulations, and that she didn't see Sam as the type of woman who'd pine away for her commanding officer for many years, knowing she couldn't have him. Cheers from the non-'shippers, including yours truly. (For the record, A.F.I. 36-2909 prohibits, among other things, relationships within a chain of command, so if such were discovered between them, it would result in courts-martial.)

She went on to say that she liked to think of Sam as a strong character in her own right (hear, hear!) and didn't want her to be just an adjunct of a male character and defined by a romantic relationship. Further loud cheers and applause from the non-'shippers who were a bit fed up with the 'shippy element by this time. Funny, but there didn't seem to be quite the same enthusiasm shown for the concept of Sam as career woman in that quarter. {eg}

Michael's session came next. He'd dispensed with the glasses, saying his eye was a little better, but was wearing a red baseball cap which shaded his eyes. After a few minutes, there was an order for people to stop using flashes. Michael then wanted to know on whose authority this was, asking wasn't he was the one who got to decide about that? It wasn't bothering him at the moment and he'd say something if it was. This met with warm approval. And a lot more flashes.

I can't vouch for the order of the questions but here goes. Michael was also asked about his directing and who was the better director, himself or Amanda. After a little teasing, he said that he thought Amanda was. Very gallant! What was his favourite line from the show? This was Daniel's frequent response ,"I have no idea." He also likes Jack's, "Oh, for crying out loud!" Well, don't we all, F.C.O.L.?! {g}

When asked about his favourite episode, he cited 'The Torment of Tantalus' and 'The Fifth Race' as previous favourites, but went on at some length about his current favourite, 'Heroes' from series seven. He asked the audience to give it a chance, despite what we might have heard in the spoilers, (that Dr. Janet Fraiser dies) as it is such a strong episode.

Well, sorry, Sunshine, but I watch television for enjoyment, and I don't take pleasure in watching favourite characters being gratuitously killed off. I did watch the episode, 'Meridian', in which Daniel died - wouldn't watch it again - because it was the last time we'd be seeing Daniel for a while and because he wasn't being permanently killed off. Personally, I thought the 'plot' of that episode sucked lemons. I was surprised and disappointed that Robert C. Cooper, a writer whom I admire and who can usually be relied on to write very good episodes, should have perpetrated such dross. /rant. {g}

Where was I? Oh yes. Someone asked Michael's opinion about what should happen to all the characters at the end of series eight, which is expected to be the final series. He responded that, in the first place, there will be no end to 'Stargate', and that it is now his life. Nice to hear it! {g}

After a couple of moments thought, he said that Jack would retire to his cabin and enjoy his fishing. Here, he was interrupted by the 'shippers calling out for Sam to be with him, so he placated them by saying that maybe she'd visit him occasionally - and maybe have a bit of nookie. (Oh, pur-lease!) Then he laughed and said, no, Sam was a career woman, and he saw her leading her own S.G. team by then.

Teal'c would have a stage show in Las Vegas and Daniel would be his "tiger trainer boy". Well, whatever that expression means, it hasn't crossed the Pond, and Google wasn't any help either. Think he's been hanging around with R.D.A. too long. Spacemonkey? Yeah, right...

Michael was also asked for an embarrassing story - they must really love that question! - and recounted an incident when he was playing Hamlet. (Remember the Hamlet hairdo in 'Into the Fire' at the beginning of series 3? {g} ) He'd almost reached the end of his performance, and was about to expire when he was suddenly hit by the dreaded mind-blank. He couldn't remember his last line! He rolled around for a bit hoping it would come to him, the forgotten line being, "O, I die, Horatio!"

Actually, I think his memory was playing him up again, because Hamlet has another six lines after that, concluding with, "The rest is silence." What? I'm not showing off. It's a quiz chestnut! On the other hand, maybe he was considering that other Hamlet quote, "Brevity is the soul of wit"? {g}

Still on the acting front, he was asked about his secret life as a ninja for the benefit of those who hadn't seen it before, and obligingly acted out a little skit with an imaginary and one-sided conversation with Jack about his plans for the evening, before launching into his ninja activities. He's good!

A little while later, Leah Rosenthal asked for the 'Wounded Lamb' sketch. Michael recognized her, exclaiming, "You...?!" and mimed wringing her neck. {bg} He seemed really surprised that very few members of the audience had seen it before, which shows how often he'd done that one. However, he gave in gracefully and did it. I was pleased about that because, although I'd heard about it, I'd never seen it. He also did the 'Puff and Ruffle'.

For those not in the know - the rest of you switch off for a while {g} - the 'Puff and Ruffle' is a mime about the reaction of the fellas on the set when an attractive female guest star appears. The 'Wounded Lamb' is a mimed reaction of the girls (Amanda and Teryl, one presumes) to the reaction of the men to the arrival of the aforementioned attractive female guest star. It's funny! {g}

Poor Amanda, she's really going to be on her own - a woman in a man's world - after Janet's been killed off. {scowl}

Then came another 'shipper-ish question from centre- front. Now I thought I'd misheard the question, but I'm told I heard correctly - thanks Roceane! 8-) The question was, roughly, that if Daniel was female, who would win the battle for Jack's affections, Sam or Danielle. Poor lad, he must be thinking his dick's in real jeopardy! {g} He certainly looked a little bemused by the question.

The next question was about «le dialogue entre Jacques et Daniel.» Michael ascertained that the questioner was referring to 'the banter' between them, repeating, "Jack..." "Daniel?" He then went on to talk innocently about himself and Rick getting a rhythm going between them. At this point there was a kind of collective intake of breath from the slashers, then we all doubled up laughing. My ribs were aching. It didn't help that, after a puzzled pause, he then went on about the rapport they had. When in a hole, stop digging, Michael!

Then the penny dropped. You could hear it from the back row. {g} Realizing what he'd just said, he covered his face with his arms and curled up. Then he looked up again grinning, and said, "Oh yeah, this show's all about homosexuality, right?" Dentopedology - the art of opening the mouth and putting the foot in it - is a Sagittarian speciality. {g} It's not the first time he's done it, and I doubt it'll be the last.

At SFX last year, Wadjet, in hockey fan mode, asked Michael a question about whether he favoured wooden or composite sticks. They had a serious discussion on the pros and cons of each, during which Michael said, "Oh, I'm a big wood man." This conversation was taken so seriously by this pair of dedicated hockey nuts that even Wadj. didn't register that one until quite a while afterwards. {G} Nice one, Wadj.!

At some point in the proceedings, Michael was presented with a birthday cake - some two and a half weeks early. He was a little taken aback by the surprise gift, but certainly wasn't complaining. One teenage youth then had a question to ask. He'd missed lunch, he said - hey, who hadn't?! - so could he have a piece of cake? Michael laughed at the cheek of it and invited him up on stage to fetch a piece, which the lad did. Lucky beggar! "The kid's got balls!" Michael laughed as he departed with his trophy.

Chris Judge came on next - a little late... We didn't mind as Michael filled in for him. 8-) He was very entertaining in a very irreverent Chris Judge way, telling risqué stories from on and off set. He was asked about the warrior relationship between O'Neill and Teal'c, to which he replied that they were just big boys playing with their toys. He leapt into action, and over the chairs, upending one of them in the process, noisily firing imaginary weapons from behind them. It was a real hoot!

He made much play with the microphones as phallic symbols. When asked about Michael's naked descent in 'Fallen' - in a public dog-walkers park in Vancouver in February! - he indicated the effect of the cold on Michael by unclipping the mic. and letting the cable end dangle very suggestively. Poor Michael. Dick in jeopardy yet again! 8-(

However, the joke back-fired a little on Chris, as he couldn't get the mic. to work after he'd reconnected it. Looking like a guilty child, he lifted the corner of the red carpet and slid the mic. underneath out of sight... ROFL! J.R. got it working again later on for the charity auction. So much for all the teasing remarks about J.R. being dim. Poor lad. He's lovely! 8-)

After Chris's session, the rest of the guests joined him on stage for the auction which had been put off from yesterday. There weren't very many items which was a shame from the fund raising point of view. However, as the show was running late again, and the bids were going up in 5€ increments, it did have its advantages. Thinking it was going to take a long time at that rate, I put in bids of 50€ on a couple of items that I wouldn't have minded, just to hurry things along a bit. Unfortunately, they weren't taking credit card payments, and I hadn't taken a lot of cash with me. Ho hum.

Chris was being the most encouraging with his sales pitch, inviting people to bid 100€ now, "'cos you know you're going to later on." {g} The main prize, which went for several thousand Euros, was a visit to Bridge studios, with a friend, to meet the cast and crew sometime during the filming of series eight. No, it didn't include expenses to get there.

We seem to have a little mystery attached to the auction, and related to a script for, I think, 'Shadow Play'. I didn't notice what happened as it was a series six script by Mallozzie and Mullie, so I'd switched off from the proceedings for the nonce. I certainly wasn't going to bid for it in case I got stuck with the thing! {g} However, Annie Wortham was paying attention, and this is her account of it:-

Quote: I've confirmed with others that they witnessed the same things, more or less.

The auction was for the 6th season script of Shadowplay. There were three colors of pages (white, pink and blue, I think). Amanda had the script and was asked to explain the meaning of the different colors. She did. She was flipping through the script. She stopped when she got to the last page and looked at it, appeared to read it, and seemed very shocked by whatever was on it (someone who was sitting right up next to the stage has since told me that they could see the page was covered in handwriting).

She called Michael over and showed it to him. He leaned in to look at it and *he* appeared shocked by whatever it was. The auction was continuing on around them. Amanda went to the back of the stage with the script while the auction continued and *removed the last page from the script* and set it on the table where the items being auctioned were kept. She then returned to the front of the stage with the script. Michael stood off to one side and kind of to the back, completely quiet. At one point, Amanda went over and kind of patted him on the arm.

While the auction continued, at some point, Chris went over to the back table and picked up the paper and read it. He went back to the front of the stage and it was at this point he began making the very pointed and angry sounding comments I reported.

So, I have no idea what was written on that page Amanda removed. But whatever it was, it shocked and upset Amanda and Michael and apparently seemed to anger Chris. /Quote.

So there you have it. I hope whoever was responsible gets what he or she deserves... }8-|

After the auction, we went off to join one of the never-ending queues. There were two, one for Amanda, whose time was limited, and one for the guys. It took quite a while to work out which broad, straggling queue was for whom. We started off in the wrong queue for a while and then had to go to the back of the one we actually wanted. We didn't argue about it, just moved. Not so some of the French people who had Day 2 tickets.

The order for autographs was V.I.P.s, then weekenders, and finally the Day 2 people. However, some of the Day 2 people, mostly men, just joined whatever queue they wanted, where they wanted, and refused to move, arguing volubly with the young girl stewards. Strangely, none of the male stewards seemed to find it necessary to come over and shove any of them around, as they had done with some of the English and Dutch girls earlier on.

As previously mentioned, Sarah Douglas had already left. 8-( I had already collected my photograph and hoped to get Michael to autograph it. The foyer was packed, and for some reason, someone had thought fit to turn off the air-conditioning. I really didn't enjoy the long wait, but at least I did get my photo signed. I only went for Michael's autograph as I already had autographs of the others and I didn't want to be greedy when there were so many others waiting. The orders were only two items, no personalization, and no chatting, so I just got Michael's autograph and left.

We arrived at the bus station en masse and found that we'd just missed a bus. We'd experienced a number of bus rides by then and got throughly fed up with being pushed, jostled, elbowed and shoved out of the way. The bus station has a series of automatic doors, one for each bus route, that open when a bus arrives. We therefore decided that 'they shall not pass' and gathered in a tight knot around our doorway.

By the time the bus arrived quite a crowd had gathered, mostly men, and the plan changed to 'we shall fight them on the beaches...' As the doors opened the pushing and shoving began, despite requests - in French - for the men behind us not to do so but to wait. We wanted to get a seat for Gary who, remember, was not long out of hospital. A couple of guys pushed past and got on the bus ahead of us, at which point I braced my arm across the doorway until Gary had got on. This action brought on a torrent of abuse and more shoving.

After all the stress of the disorganized weekend, I'd had enough and took a swing at the next guy who bullied his way past. I came this close to socking him on the jaw, {holds fingers an inch apart} but the word 'riot' swam into my forebrain, rapidly followed by 'international incident' and I pulled the punch at the last minute. What control, eh?! I would dearly have loved to deck the guy though! {snarl} Needless to say, despite being at the front of the not-queue, few of us got seats. {scowl} At this point, I was thinking that Paris was a filthy city and that the French were bad-tempered thugs.

Then we went to the pizzeria with its lovely patron and his family, which reminded me that not all Frenchmen are boorish Neanderthals. This one indeed was very charming. The evening was very lively and convivial, with good food and another half bottle of Valpolicella Classico. 8-) I was sitting next to Suzanne, a delightful and erudite German lady. Hi, Suzanne, if you're reading this. {waves}

There was much laughter resulting from a 'Round Robin' slash fic. which several of the party wrote in turn and passed round. Did it ever get finished, guys? Interested parties want to know... {g} Afterwards, we returned to the Comfort Inn to rearrange the furniture once more, order more «thé» and continue the somewhat raucous badinage. As it said on our group badges, "F.D.A.S. do Paris". {BG}

Part 2: The Convention, day 1 - Saturday 29th Nov., 2003.

The following morning, we pursued the problem of the boots with Patrice, le patron. He is wonderful! What comes to mind by way of description is a cross between a forty-something Albert Einstein and the comic genius, Jacques Tati. Fortunately he speaks good English, but it was still funny trying to explain the situation, especially as Helen was now in one room and her boots on the balcony of another.

After our experiences with French taxi drivers, whom we suspected of overcharging, (about as much as the cost of the room!) we were reluctant to repeat the experience but were too far away to walk. Not a problem, as Patrice told us that the bus stopped outside the hotel and ran every five to ten minutes. It was also reasonably cheap, especially for the French who mostly seemed to board via the exit and so avoid paying at all. Not surprisingly, it was packed, but we managed to get Gary a seat.

We arrived well before the opening ceremony so, as it was quiet, the V.I.P.ers went to the desk to buy tickets for the photograph session. I was with them and was asked whom I wanted to be photographed with. I said I was only a weekender and so wasn't entitled to a photograph. Not so. They were allowing some weekenders to be photographed also, presumably on a first come, first served basis, so I paid my 15€ for a photo with Michael. This made me a very surprised and happy bunny. 8-)))

We next went to the auditorium for the opening ceremony. Finding where to sit was the first challenge of the day, but I managed to discover that weekender seats were from row K backwards. Besides Michael and Chris, there was J.R.Bourne who played the Tok'ra, Martouf who was unnecessarily and unforgivably killed off in season 4's 'Divide and Conquer', which was where the rot set in after Jonathan Glassner left the production team... Ai-eee!

The 'surprise guest' turned out to be Sarah Douglas who played Garshaw of Belote, a member of the Tok'ra High Council and one of my favourite characters. It's nice to see a strong, mature female character. 8-) Too often - the production execs. being male, and somewhat juvenile too, methinks - we get scantily clad buxom young women who don't really have the stature for such a role. The word, totty, leaps forcibly to mind. Not that Sarah isn't a handsome woman, 'cos she is. 8-)

Michael apologized for wearing dark glasses, saying earnestly that it really wasn't a rock star thing; he'd got a scratch on his eye. The glasses weren't rock star glasses anyway. Those completely obscure the stars' eyes. Michael's had shaded brown lenses, not solid black ones.

The guests then left for the photography session. I and the weekenders from our party headed for the great outdoors, or rather, the covered mall that was the upper part of Le CNIT, as we didn't expect it to get round to our turn for some time. We descended on the Café de la Place. This was a kind of 'pavement café' complete with (indoor) umbrellas. Anyway, at least they did tea, or rather, «thé», and let me say here and now that the French have nary a clue about tea-making. What arrives is a cup, pot of hot water, a tea-bag and a couple of rolls of sugar. If you want milk, you have to ask for it.

We'd barely finished drinking when some of our V.I.P.ers came running up to tell us our numbers had been called, from which we assumed that the organizers had a very efficient production line going. How wrong we were! We spent the next several hours standing in a queue whose speed of movement wouldn't have challenged an arthritic tortoise - or even, for much of the time, a comatose one!

It must have been about one o'clock by the time we got past the screens dividing off the dumping-bags-and-waiting area outside the photography area, which was further screened off by a curtain. We were so near...

Then one of the security men said it was «fini» and we should come back later. There was only a handful of us left, so I collared an interpreter and asked if it was possible to be seen as I am «vielle» and «malade» (well, my back was killing me by then as a result of standing for so long) and didn't think I could manage to stand for several more hours later on.

Rather to my surprise, she told us to wait and disappeared behind the curtain. A few moments later, Michael and Chris popped their heads out, saw how few we were and said they'd see us all. I thought that really great of them - considerate, and no sign of big egos. Also hats off to the interpreter for her initiative.

At a previous convention, shortly after the season 7 episode, 'Space Race', had aired in the States, someone had asked a question about Daniel's down-time interests. Sam was a speed freak. What did Daniel do when he was away from the S.G.C.? He'd thought about it for a moment, then decided that Daniel was a secret ninja. He then proceeded to act out 'Daniel, the ninja', adding as he finished, that he expected to see ninja Daniel appearing in our fan fiction.

Now, Stargate staff, including the cast, are prohibited from reading fan fiction on the grounds that if, by chance, a scriptwriter produces a script that is similar to someone's fan fic., they have a cast-iron alibi against a legal suit for plagiarism; they don't read fan fic., ergo they couldn't have stolen the idea.

So I put together a little picture of Daniel as a ninja instead and gave it to Michael. He looked surprised and pleased with it - yes, I know, he's an actor {g} - but it was very nice to have such a positive response. I didn't realize it until I saw the photograph, but he'd actually taken the trouble to include the picture. I'm impressed. 8-)

Sometime after that as I was crossing the foyer, I saw Chris Judge heading towards me - well, not towards me per se. We were simply going in opposite directions. As our paths crossed, I said, "Hi, nice to see you again", and got a hug and a kiss in response. Colour me stunned! Okay, so it was just a peck on the cheek, but very nice all the same. Add that to the unexpected photograph with Michael and I was one exceedingly happy bunny. 8-)))

When the four guests were back on stage, they were asked to judge a fancy dress competition. There were several people in various uniforms, two Lyas of the Nox, two Nirrtis in beautiful saris, an Anubis and a Sha're.

Representing the 'ship contingent - and the French fans seemed to be 'shippers to a man, or rather, teenage girl - was a young blonde teenager in a lacy crinolined wedding dress (with black trouser-legs showing underneath it {g} ) and carrying a placard that read, "WHERE IS MY JACK?" in red crayon.

The highlight - and winners - of the competition were Chaka, the Unas, dragging Daniel along on the end of a rope, as in the episode, 'The First Ones'. They indulged in a little role-playing which also involved the guests. 'Chaka' presented Michael with a food bar of some sort. Chris Judge got in on the act too, waving the bar around and crying, "Ke-kaa! Ke-kaa!" Apparently this means something unspecified but vulgar in French. {g}

Next on the agenda was a joint question and answer session involving all four guests. This was necessarily disjointed as questions, whether asked in English or French, had to be translated for the other part of the audience, plus a translation of the answers into French.

For this, we had an extremely accomplished interpreter, Frédérique (Freddie) Remy. She was very slick and her rapid speech reduced the time lags between question and answer. In view of the size of the English-speaking contingent, we could have used two or three more English speakers with her level of fluency and comprehension.

Sadly, I don't remember much of the actual questions, but on the plus side, at least I'm not rehashing what others who had tape-recorders will have reported. I'd heard quite a lot of the questions before which may account for why nothing of this session particularly stands out in my mind. The interactions between the guests was very entertaining, especially when Sarah had been sitting looking neglected for a while and the others roped her in. Whenever she was asked a question after that, she sat upright as if she'd been asleep. At one point, she lost her mic., then discovered she was sitting on it, and made a saucy remark about having to take her pleasures where she could. {snigger}

I was about to ask a question - was already standing up, microphone in hand - when the question and answer session was abruptly terminated. The guests all looked pretty surprised at the sudden ending too. For the record, I was about to ask how they all felt about the gratuitous killing off of favourite characters... Now we shall never know.

Autographs next, and more fun on the disorganization front. Ideally, there would have been an announcement before people started leaving the auditorium, regarding the order in which people would be called, and when, rather than expecting the stewards upstairs to sort things out. At one point, there was the amusing spectacle of one person at the bottom of the stairs sending everyone up, and a chap at the top, who didn't speak any English, sending everyone back down again. Shades of 'The Grand Old Duke of York'!

Finally, a young lady, whom I later discovered to be Lydia from Barcelona, came over and sorted things out. I suspect she was acting on her own initiative, but whatever the reason, it was very welcome to have someone capable of taking charge. There was a modicum of organization a little while later in that information was disseminated that autographs would only be going up to weekend ticket number 150 that day, so those of us with higher numbers went off and had another cup of «thé».

Back at the Con., all was not going well, however. Much the same thing happened with the autographs as happened with the photographs earlier, except that this time, there were even fewer people left out than before, and there was no kind-hearted steward to intercede. These fans were just sent off without so much as a reassurance that they would be called to the front of the queue on Sunday; they would have to queue all over again.

The guests were tired, or so the rag, tag and bobtail were told. Well, and so were the people who'd queued for hours. The guests were at least seated, and were also getting paid. I'm guessing that they weren't told what was going on in the waiting area this time, as I'm sure that, given a choice, they would've stayed on. Aby was spitting tacks about this. No, I tell a lie. Those were not tacks, those were R.P.G.s!

But hey, there was the cocktail party for those with V.I.P. tickets to look forward to. And they were certainly looking forward to it with great enthusiasm. The remaining eight of us decided to go back to the hotel and have dinner at a pizzeria across the road. Some of the party had dined there the previous night and gave a good account of the place.

Everyone else had a pizza but as they were rather large, I went for salmon tagliatelle accompanied by a half bottle of Valpolicella Classico instead. Look, I just like red wine - okay? {g} We all had a wonderful evening, laughing and chatting. Aby and I had a long and interesting academic conversation. When it was time to leave, we decided we'd had such a great time, we'd dine there the following night too.

The patron heard our plans and said regretfully that it was not possible. Dimanche. He would be closed. We all groaned theatrically and said, but we wanted to bring the rest of our friends. Quattorze? That gave him pause. If we could bring that number, then he would open specially for us. Cheers all round. Happily, we made our way back to the Comfort Inn, rearranged the furniture in the lounge as we had the night before, and ordered more tea.

After the sunshine, the rain. Our V.I.P.s stormed in with steam coming out of their ears. The cocktail party had been a fiasco. 8-((( I'd heard tales of previous cocktail parties where the V.I.P.s sit round tables and the guests work the room. Everybody gets to see them and exchange a few words. With the fans being seated, they can see where the guests are and the guests feel a lot safer. It's civilized.

Not this cocktail party. It was held at an Irish bar (called Murphy's, I think), and was a metro ride away from the main venue in the CNIT. It was suspected that the Con. organizers had taken the word of Murphy's licensee that the place could hold 300 fans plus the guests, plus the stewards, and hadn't been to check it out for themselves. In fact, it turned out that it was only licensed to hold 220 in total. Apparently, the licensee had made more space available by taking out the tables, and the V.I.P.s were still packed in like sardines...

Not only this, but a large group of weekenders had gathered outside, despite oft repeated instructions from the Con. staff not to do so, since they would not be allowed in. No blame to the Con. organizers on that account as they stressed this pretty clearly several times. Perhaps the folks outside were merely hoping to take pictures of the guests arriving. Who knows?

A limousine arrived, pulled up for a while, then moved off again. The worry was that Michael had seen the heaving crowds and, being a little 'don't-fence-me-in' Sagittarian, was having serious qualms about it. It must have looked pretty intimidating from the outside.

Finally, the guests arrived and were marched in single file along the side of the room and seated behind tables at one end - on a daïs, I think. Fans were then allowed to go up one at time to talk to the guests. Quite a lot of the fans never even came near to the anticipated close encounter and were extremely disappointed as a result.

One who had been lucky enough to go up and chat with Michael was Wadj. Yay! Go Wadjet! 8-) They're both ardent ice hockey fans and got rather carried away discussing recent performances of the Canucks and the effect of a young new player on the rest of the team. The Canucks is the Vancouver team that Michael supports. Wadj. follows them too, and also the Leafs (Toronto Maple Leafs). So that really made her night. 8-)

Unfortunately, as everyone else was somewhere between gloomy as Eeyore and mad as fire, she really couldn't enjoy the moment and was desperately trying not to look happy. So, gilt well off the gingerbread, then. 8-( Hugs ((((Wadj.))))

However, once the rest of the gang had got themselves seated on the rearranged chairs and couches, good humour was eventually restored. And so to bed.

F.D.A.S. Jaunt to Paris
being an account of the French Stargate Convention, a.k.a. the Horse's Ass Con.

[For those of you not in the loop here, 'Stargate S.G.-1' is a science fiction T.V. show starring Richard Dean Anderson as Colonel Jack O'Neill, Michael Shanks as Dr. Daniel Jackson, Amanda Tapping as Major Samantha Carter and Christopher Judge as the alien Jaffa, Teal'c. The latter three were the main guests at the convention. So it was a big deal - right?]

Part 1: Outward Bound - Nov. 27th- 28th, 2003.

For me, the Con Experience began on Thursday as I went across the Humber Bridge to stay with Wadjet overnight. This was because there are works on the line between Scunthorpe and Doncaster necessitating an extra change and coach journey. Wadj. was going straight through from Brough to Manchester Airport, and it's a lot more fun travelling together than separately. Thus far, all went well...

We reached the station in plenty of time on Friday, managed to find a car-parking space, and then we were on our way. At the airport, I got jumped on by a very excited and extremely bouncy Anne-Marie from Blackpool. She'd brought along a friend, Jill, who was going to her first con., so now we were four. We checked in safely and went through to the departure lounge. And then our worries began.

We had no Mary, no Sazzle and no Gary. We couldn't contact Mary, who was coming from Leeds. Saz was somewhere in the building waiting for her friend, Gary, and no, they are not 'together', if you get my drift. In fact, if you have any problems with homosexuality, better stop reading now. {G}

Gary had had to squeeze in a business trip - in the opposite direction - before heading for the airport. The poor guy was not fully fit either. He'd had pneumonia some time previously and ended up in hospital having his lung drained. That was only a few days before the con.

Anyway, all was well. We boarded the plane. And sat there. For half an hour. There was fog at Charles de Gaulle Airport, we were told, so there were no landings for the time being until it cleared a little. Under the circumstances - this was my first flight on a commercial airliner - I wasn't particularly nervous. Excited, yes. {g}

The flight itself - yes, we did get off the ground eventually - was enjoyable although, being aft of the engines, rather noisy. It was fascinating watching the countryside and later, the Channel, sliding past way below. Then bigger clouds below us cut off the view. It was wonderful being above them in clear blue skies. One of my earliest memories as a child was being told by my father, who was a pilot during W.W.II, that above the clouds, the sun always shines. That was quite a revelation at the time so it was lovely to see it for myself.

We landed smoothly, and not much behind schedule at C.D.G. Airport, and then the weekend's gremlins began to show their true colours. Everyone had their luggage back - except Wadj. I made a couple of forays to the enquiries desk, trying out my schoolgirl French - and got the brush off. This was stressful all round as we didn't want to leave Wadj. to cope with it on her own, and Wadj. was feeling bad about holding everyone up as we had to get to the venue before 6.00 p.m. to register - or get up horribly early the next morning to do so...

Then her close friend, Lix, showed up and took charge. The rest of us were shooed away while Lix helped Wadj. to sort out her baggage problem, which turned out to be fairly major as her suitcase had been damaged en route. Wadj. was told that it looked as if the 'plane had run over it. Eek! 8-( Amazingly, the only damage was to the case. She then had to check that the contents were all present and was given two replacement cases (without wheels).

Meanwhile, the rest of us were being treated to the French taxi-driver experience... By now, we'd been joined by Catspaw, who'd flown in from Edinburgh. I can't remember at this time who we met up with when or where so apologies if I've left anyone out, but Nikki was flying in from Newcastle, and Aloysius, Beth Supersaint, Kate and Nic were travelling on Eurostar. Aby and Suzanne had arrived the previous day.

The venue for the con. was a conference centre called the CNIT, which looks like this is an abbreviation for something, and maybe it is. It's sited on or in 'La Défense' which we'd taken to be the street name. Unfortunately, the only person who knew the actual address of the place was sorting out her baggage.

With hindsight, I suspect that the driver of the taxi in which I was travelling was being deliberately dense, since he claimed to have no knowledge whatsoever of the C. N. I. T. as we pronounced it, and was very voluble in letting us know it, also that 'La Défense' is a very big area divided into fourteen sections.

I was the only one who owned to any knowledge of French and so ended up 'doing a Daniel' - or trying to. {g} After I'd spelled out C.N.I.T. in both English and French «Say, en, ee, tay » several times, he finally caught on - apparently - exclaiming, «Oh! Le K'nitt! »

When we pulled up outside this immense concrete and glass building about the size of a city railway station with 'CNIT' in huge blue illuminated letters on the front, it really didn't seem likely that the driver wouldn't know it. Imagine a French person in London asking for the T. A. T. E. Gallery. How long would it take for the penny to drop that he or she wanted the Tate Gallery? Pah!

It was now around 5.30 p.m. and we still had to find out where the Convention was being held. Inside, Le CNIT is a shopping mall with lots of boutiques, eateries and such like around a very large concourse which also had a number of boutique-lined avenues leading off it. Finally, I went into a café and enquired. The helpful waitress then spotted Anne-Marie's Stargate T-shirt and directed us to the conference centre which was underground - on two levels. Le CNIT is BIG!

After we'd registered, we hung around waiting in the hopes that Wadj. and Lix would show up in time, and meeting other familiar faces, such as Annie Wortham and Leah Rosenthal of the wonderful Stargate cartoons. Leah recounted Michael Shanks' reaction when asked to autograph her 'Send Me an Angel' cartoon of a naked, but tastefully arranged, Daniel who'd just descended with a thump on the ramp in the 'Gate Room. This can be seen at:

http://cartoons.ashtonpress.net/sendangel.jpg

Michael looked at the cartoon, gave a mock cry of horror and said, "But I have no penis!"

Wadj. and Lix turned up after hours, but this wasn't a problem as Lix is one of those forces of nature that is not withstood for long, so they got their security badges and programmes too. So far, so so... Food next. We found our way to a restaurant called the Hippopotamus where I enjoyed a bison steak followed by profiteroles. Some of the others were less impressed, especially by a dessert that consisted of half a dozen wafer thin slices of pineapple spread out on a large plate with a single glacé cherry in the middle.

From there, we made tracks for the hotel. This was the Comfort Inn in Rue Gabriel Peri in Bezons la Défense, and was very good. Wadj., who did all the hotel liaison - THANKS WADJ.!!! - negotiated a very good deal of 35€ per person per night (about £25). My room was warm, clean and comfortable, and all the plumbing worked. I ask for little more - just a kettle and tea-making facilities, but I doubt if I'd find that anywhere in France. {g}

As soon as we walked through the door we were met by demands for a French speaker from Helen. Thus began the saga of the boots.

Helen had arrived earlier and, and thinking that her boots had a certain whiff about them, decided to put them out on the little balcony outside her room to air. There was an inner patio door type window and an outer window that opened. However, a third party had subsequently closed the outer window and 'a bit dropped off and jammed the window', preventing Helen from retrieving her boots. Not only that, but the window, because of the bit that had broken off, did not close properly, converting her room into a 'fridge.

Yours truly gallantly risked making herself look ridiculous again by volunteering to act as interpreter. Unfortunately the verb «prendre» eluded me until the following day, so I was unable to get across that Helen couldn't reach her boots. We did, however, manage to get her another room. Sometime later, there was a flash outside as Helen took a photo of her boots for posterity - or possibly insurance purposes. I don't know.