I can only assume that the perpetrator was someone with a name even more embarrassing than mine - something like Dastardly McFannyparts, or Eric Funtle, and a face like a pack of warts attacking a large pooh. It is the only explanation. And now it's all sorted out, I would like to point them towards Deed Poll and a large tube of this:
And in other news - I was the judge of a Story Slam competition at Whitby! Yes, me! It was held at La Rosa Hotel which is the most brilliantly 'boudoir' place I have ever been in, also with scones. And it's not often you get a boudoir with scones, unless Delia Smith has opened a pole-dancing club that we don't know about. The tea room (hence the scones) is amazing, full of old things (no, no, like decorative, not like a Saga coach trip) and cakes, and downstairs where we had the Story Slam is all red walls and low lighting. Very atmospheric, for stories of blood and darkness.... It was great fun and the stories were terrific and it was a very hard job judging, especially since I'd had a cream tea just before, but I managed to choose a winner, which, for someone as indecisive as me, was quite a triumph.
I do have to admit that I always thought a Story Slam was something like the card game Snap, where people wrote out their stories and then threw them down on the table, and I did wonder how I was supposed to judge this - was it the person who shouted 'Story!' loudest, or first, or was it like a wrestling match, and you had to press the other writers' shoulders down onto the ground and hold them there for thirty seconds or something. And then I found it wasn't, but that I'd come up with a whole new game for the next RNA Conference...
|Picture courtesy of The Sun. Yep, makes me wonder too...|