Finnished!

Should I say that I have seen nine tenths of all the islands I’ll ever see in what remains of my life? Or that one of them I swam to, in the last rays of a sun still above the horizon at nine at night?

Should I say that I have sat, naked and sweat-soaked among more SF fans and writers – also naked and sweat-soaked – than ever ought decently to be crammed into a darkened space the size of a generously proportioned garden shed?

Should I say that I have seen church pulpits fitted with egg timers to shut priests up, before they have the chance to put to sleep a congregation with their cant?

Or learnt that I am – and indeed most men over the age of thirty are – too old to hear the Song of the Finnish Grasshopper?

Should I say that I have tasted wild strawberries the size of a ladybird shell, exploding with flavour on my tongue like some insane essence of the larger fruit? Or vodka infused with salty liquorice and ice cream flavoured with pitch?

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Or should I simply say that I have been a Guest of Honour at FinnCon 2011?

Because I have.  And that’s what it was like.

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With many, many thanks to Tino Warinowski, Johanna Ahonen, Paivi Vaatanen, Nalo Hopkinson and David Findlay, the committee and sponsors of FinnCon (and apologies to T.S. Eliot)

It’s been a blast.