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?
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.
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.