lproven | The Great Whitby/Novacon f*ck-up

People go to SF cons for various reasons. Some go to see panels, buy books, meet authors or critics or potential publishers. Some go to give & receive fanzines. Personally, I go mainly to see mates, often ones I only infrequently meet. I go to hang out in the bar, have a few ales and talk late into the night. I don't really go for the programme any more, but as my beloved Kjersti put it, I like to know that there's something good on to miss. Better to not actually attend something decent than fail to see crap.

All this means that what I actually go for is the craic - which, to my surprise, is what I discovered the biannual Whitby Gothic Weekend is all about too. I'm not a serious goth any more, if I ever was, but I used to do a lot of clubbing and gigging after I moved down to London in the early 90s. Alongside a respectable day-job in the City, I'd spend my weekends happily off my face in various dingy dens of iniquity such as Islington's Slimelight , Camden's Electric Ballroom and Oxford Street's Hellfire Club, with occasional excursions to Bagley's at Kings Cross for allnighters or The Church or the like.

(Anecdote: 8:30am one Sunday morning. I am sitting slumped on the concourse at Waterloo, after seeing a mate onto his train home to Woking. I'm nursing a polystyrene cup, half full of coffee, and a hangover - a particular bugger when you haven't actually slept yet. Trying to brace myself for the long tube trip home. A passing suit drops 50p into my coffee. I know crusties are supposed to shout abuse, but it's not normally on the theme of relative salaries. He looked distinctly startled by the vituperation he received instead of mumbled thanks.)

Back then I could wander into the Slime or a favoured pub such as the Royal George and be sure of meeting some people I knew. In recent years, though, I'd largely given up such pursuits. I've always kept my Slime membership current, just for the odd visit for a birthday or scandalising a visitor or something. The George is a shitty sports bar, the Fox is too small and too full, and the Dev's occupants are too trashed, agreeable though it is.

Then a Norwegian goth chick moved in with me. They don't have many goth clubs in Norway. Phrases about the preferred environments of happy pigs spring to mind. What's more, she has a partner in crime. This year I've been out clubbing more than in the last eight. The Slime, Full Tilt, Tenebrae, M:Alice, the Goth_Sluts meets... often several a week. It's all a bit much sometimes, but it's fun, and I've met lots of new people, such as

bluehelen,

corsetboy,

nils,

kitty_goth,

sheridanwilde,

voofy to name but a few...

So I wasn't too averse to being dragged up to Whitby for the gothfest in April. Even if I was going to be the scruffy biker type with no makeup in the corner, I could always watch the bands, ogle the goth totty and sink a few beers.

It wasn't what I expected. It wasn't some 3 day mega-all-nighter-goth-superclub. It was GothCon. Sure, there were bands on, but most people seemed to ignore them, hang around in the bar and natter. On the whole, though, they're thinner, less bearded, less bespectacled, more latex- and PVC-clad, and to be honest a great deal more attractive than your average SF fans. I wasn't K's not-very-gothy boyfriend, tagging along: I met as many friends of my own as K & Co's, and tho' the beer was rubbish there's always Dog or the traditional Snakebite'n'black.

And the goth totty... my god, the goth totty... If you like cute young women (OK, OK, and men - at least I think some of them are male), in minimal amounts of skintight and/or seethrough clothing, it's heaven. I confess I am not averse to it myself. Thisconveys it fairly well.

The only time everyone paid attention to the music was Sunday night: Sexbat's 80s disco at Whitby's compact and bijou Laughton's nightclub. A top night out. Apparently it is alarming that I know every word of every lyric of every song.