Milton Keyens Collectormania 2012
Right, new to this. Very, very new…. Right….. Umm, yeah. New to this, so first submission may as well be about something I’m equally new to. Conventions.
OK, few ground points. At secondary school, no doubt it will feature in many a future post, especially is the terms ‘bitterness’ and ‘issues’ are involved, the crazy had to be tampered down on, purely as a survival mechanism. So after 7 years of hiding the geeky colours, I get to a tiny university city where the students have to make their own entertainment, and, cue flood gates opening.
Well, not so much flood gates, at least not for the first few years, still nervy and shy, but recently years, yeah, flying the geeky flag. There are a number of architects responsible for this transformation. The numerous members of Project Anime, DocSoc, SciFa, G&S, Mostly Harmless, OTC. Individual of note include Academic family; Kat, Amanda, Andrew and Luke. Brilliant friends; Jimmy, Deirdre, Hugh, Connor, Fiona, Tom, Luke, Sian, Dara, Ruaridh, Emily, Maria and Chloe. And Head Engineer in Chief moralrelativist, Lucy.
As well as making my university life worth living, these people went above and beyond the call of duty, introducing me to the likes of classic Who and Firefly and thus enriching my life beyond recognition. I still have much to learn from these great teachers, and I intend to as long as where ever I end up has WiFi. But before St Andrews could spit us out in an official capacity, they had one more rite of nerdy passage to put me through. Convention.
Part the First - Deployment
After a few months of ‘umming’ and ‘ahhing’ about it, because I can’t plan ahead to save my life, seriously, it’s rare I can give a confirmation of where I will be at the end of the week at any given time, I asked Lucy if she and the Trek Babes would mind awfully taking me under their wing and show me around Collectormania 18 in Milton Keynes. I was told to pack my Starfleet issued uniform and to be there on Friday 1st.
Armed with a sleeping bag, wheeled suitcase and satchel, I travelled from Nottingham railway station. Arrived at Milton Keynes station and was greeted by Lucy, who was like myself sporting the rare and sort after DocSoc hoodie. We hiked across the concrete Shangri-La to the Travel Lodge that was to act as our base for the weekend.
After being introduced to the group, most of whom I knew at least tentatively, we settled down in the bigger of the two rooms, well I say bigger it just had more people staying in it, for dinner and a viewing of How I Got News For You. Alistair Campbell being slowly torn apart on screen. As a Conservative and a military girl, it felt good. Dinner was a Dominoes delivery with the pre-meal entertainment of Colleen, hathy_col, being handed a notepad and pen and going into scary, efficient mode. This led to me asking if I could have what I wanted to order as opposed to simply telling her. I go meek when scared.
The night ended the laying out of costumes for the next day and Fiona and I bucking all social expectations and insisting David took the double bed. Fiona took the sofa and I had the mattress on the floor thing that the sofa spat out like an afterthought. Wasn’t fussed, can sleep pretty much anywhere.
Part the Second - First Tour of Duty
I had been warned. Conventions meant early start and queuing. I’d also been told that Rule #1 to be observed was showering. Made a tactical decision and stashed deodorant in my bag instead, I’m not terribly fast in the morning. The Trek Babes, which included David, are an exclusive group that one can be invited to and the U.S.S. TYRE IRON is always on the lookout for new canon fodd- erm, I mean crew members. The Trek Babes are characterised by the original series uniforms, so the short dresses. Fiona, Colleen, Lucy and Ann all had the legs for the hem lines but myself, I am of Welsh stock and not so much. The all looked like Star Fleet’s finest; Fiona, in her Ann Summers red dress, Ann in red, Colleen in command gold and Lucy in science blue. I have had in the back of my wardrobe, a homemade red shirt. It’s just a red primark t-shirt with yellow felt and gold ribbon in the appropriate place. I made it for the SciFa Star Trek viewing of Spock-tober last year and I also survived a zombie pub crawl in it…. Still not sure how that happened…. So I was geared up in the red shirt and black trousers, hair up and with the most Uhura-esque earrings that I could find in Primark the day before. The fact that I was in trousers was a topic of debate on the bus, where we were able to do little but look at the world of Milton Keynes through streamed windows and bleary eyes, occasionally shouting “Hash tag TREKBABES!” like a strange version of Tourettes. I was ready for this one and declared that with my history of cadet and OTC service, I was munitions and couldn’t be loading massive gun breaches and carrying out my duty in the heat of battle in a miniskirt. Lucy also decided that with my Zoology degree I had to look after George and Gracie.
I don’t remember much about the queuing for our John Barrowman virtual queuing tickets, bit meta that, only the odd thing. That cigarette smoke can really linger, that some of the stereotypes are true, and that there was a woman behind us with the best damn leather jacket I’ve ever seen. It was a Captain America biker jacket, white star and all, and oh my days I want one. Once the doors were opened, I was swept through the doors, grabbed by the collar and dragged in the correct direction. That pretty much set the tone for the whole weekend.
We spent a while stood in line for photo op tickets for a variety of different guests and also for the Convention party that evening. One thing I learnt very quickly was that this weekend was not going to be kind to the old immune system. Having just about recovered from the obligatory ‘End of Semester’ flu, I wasn’t looking forward to the beating it was going to take. With this in mind, I purchased a ticket to a party that was going to keep me up til arse-o’clock in the morning and wandered merrily on my way in a thin cardigan around an open football stadium whilst the outside world blew a gale.
Meeting John Barrowman was a little strange. Firstly I didn’t really meet him, it was more a David and Fiona met him and I hung back a little shell shocked. However the guy in front of us asked John to record a message to his significant other and John obliged with barely controlled glee. I can’t remember the exact wording he used, but I do remember rolling my eyes and muttering, ‘Not now Captain’, because the moment needed it.
On our laps around the stadium, if anyone was handing out virtual queuing tickets, rule of thumb was, you took one. People who I’d never heard of or the shows they were in, but still take a ticket and tuck it in the bra. Probably a good thing considering how many damn people there were. It was quite scary and travelling in a group resulted in a bit of conga lining in order to stay together. Apparently this was a good plan, as we saw Brian Blessed doing exactly the same thing with his handler. Is handler the right term? Anyway, there was lots of going round and round dodging the rain and the occasional R2D2. The elevator bay through the dealers room became a base of sorts, with radiators and carpet.
Despite being a little scared, tired and cold, there were moments of gold. Colleen got her photo taken with Paul McGann, 8th Doctor, at this point someone who I still had not met, and in the going in for a cuddle, for he appears to be a cuddler, she accidentally put her arm up the back of his jacket. Although she paniced, she stuck to her guns and her hand stayed there for the photo. She reappeared muttering to herself in horror, something along the lines of puppetry and Sesame Street.
All of that was forgotten in the face of Finn Jones, Game of Throne’s Knight of Flowers, who we all walked by, then did a double take and just gazed at him. The boy is so cherubic and darling and he can horse ride and, yeah there was some gushing and hugs all round. Colleen got a signing from him and a few photos, the flashes of which are to blame as the catalysis the day that we receive news of the immaculate conception of golden haired angel spawn. That smile cause pregnancy ladies, be warned!
A few of us also stood in line to meet Sean Astin, Samwise Gamgee, later in the afternoon. Sean was one of the first names to draw me to Collectormania as despite only really coming into my nerdiness these last couple of years, I got into Lord of the Rings at secondary school. At my school, fangirling over geekiness was an offence punished with social shunning, but fangirling over Orlando Bloom was just fine. Loop hole observed and exploited. No offence to Legolas but I was always more of a hobbit girl, love you Billy! And Dom! And - oh sod it, I love all of them! Anyway, despite the cold and wind, Sean was chatty, smiley and so warm. Apologising for running off for a comfort break and shuffling back behind his table he was all smiles and handshakes. He was rather impressed with our costumes and posed for a quick photo. At this point I heard a ‘don’t leave me hanging’ from behind me and there he was, waiting for a high-five-turn-hand-grasp from me. I just wanted to huggle him.
Meeting Nichelle Nichols was an almost spiritual thing for us. We’d all come as Trek Babes and my nerd re-birth had be triggered in a big way by Star Trek. Meeting her was like stepping in front of a phoenix or something. OK, very flowery language I know, but really she was. Sedate and calm and magnificently done up with jewellery and silver hair. She sat there and gave off aura of 'I have dealt with Shatner, I have dealt with Nimoy, I have dealt with Takei. I can handle anything you divas wish to throw at me.' Again there was much star struckness, especially from me. She also said my name was beautiful!
There was a little bit of cross-over between the fandoms that day as well. Star Fleet received a liaison representative from the Time Lords. About late morning, a 10th Doctor walks over to a small group of us and asks us if we supported *insert name of football team who play in white/blue/yellow, he told us but I can’t remember*. Dom, for that was the young man’s name we learnt, had noticed the hallowed DocSoc scarves. Long scarves of blue, white and yellow bands which reportedly make Peter Davison break out in a cold sweat whenever he sees them. After having the history of these scarves explained to him by Lucy, and moving on to the St Andrews university geek societies and then just geek and society in general, Dom, who was on his lonesome, joined our group. It was only really mean to be for a few minutes and kinda ended up being for the whole weekend. That is an important lesson I learned at Con. Waifs and strays will be accepted into the herd if you are warm, engaging and have made a good go of the cosplay. It also greatly helped that there was the addition of another set of ‘XY’ chromosomes to the group, which halted the growth of David’s developing sympathetic uterus. To be fair he was coping remarkably well in a group with six girls, but he was taking more time in the bathroom than Fiona and me combined.
Towards the end of the day as the crowds thinned and the weather brightened, the strain started to catch up on us all and a group of us made the decision to head back to take tactical showers and/or naps before dinner and that evening’s party. On the way out however, we passed Paul McGann’s table. Now I am a big fan of Doctor Who but I have little knowledge of anything pre-Tennant. Yeah, fangirl…. Anyway, I saw the Doctor Who movie last year in DocSoc and came to the conclusion that the actor was very good but the writers were on something, and not the good stuff. Paul McGann had no one at his table and was gazing around during the lull of activity. Lucy grabbed me by the shoulders and right wheeled the group up to the table for a natter. The first thing that hit me was; damn, they had not been joking. The others, to whom this is all old hat, had met Paul McGann before and had unanimously decided he was a wonderful, wonderful man. He looked up and smiled at us all, seeming to appreciate the company and reached out to shake hands. He took my hand and looked at me with something akin to concern because I went very still and quiet. I have a thing for older men, there is a list which no doubt will make its’ way onto live journal, and the combination of his voice, kind smile and the interest he had for each of us and the attention he paid to Lucy when they got into a discussion on Nichelle Nichols’ role in the civil rights movement put him firmly on that list. Lucy can do that by the way, she can manage the flailing that the majority of us succumb to and can have a serious discussion about damn near anything with damn near anyone. She had a debate on quantum physics with Callum Blue. I don’t think I know a sharper cookie and she’s good enough to be seen with a philistine like me in public. Anyway, in the end we head out to the bus stop, I with a shy smile on my face and a mutter confession that I may have just fallen in love a little bit. I was clapped on the shoulder and welcomed to the club.
On the bus, reassuming our natural positions at the front of the top deck, Lucy once again showed off her brains in a stunning display of eloquence. After a few initially loutish comments about our costumes, two guys across the aisle asked if the uniforms where relevant to us individually. Lucy was in science blue and knows brains, in terrifying detail in some respects. She’s used me as a test subject before now, which was harmless enough, but after ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ episode of SHERLOCK this year I made her promise no Project H.O.U.N.D. stuff. The group of us sat and listen to her explain her research on the brain and visual cortex, being accurate and yet still phrasing it so a hippy scientist such as me, zoology, could understand and the guy seemed to follow and was genuinely interested. He turned to me and asked what I did. I just smiled dangerously and said ‘I load the guns and feed the whales’ and left it at that. My dissertation was on flightless New Zealand birds, not many of them in space….
Part the Third - Night Patrol
Once back in the correct room, after pleading at the desk for an access key, and a shower, I started to feel a bit more human. After a dirt cheap and damn good meal, felt invincible. With Dom joining our ranks once more and Louise on sentry duty, in the room, in bed, we kitted up in Star Fleet garb once more and returned to the venue.
The shuttle, a Volvo Peugeot, piloted by Lucy got us to the party a little after doors open and well before anyone was on the dance floor. We made an attempt at an entrance; some of the sensible shoes of the day had been exchange with some with a little more swag. So as we walked from the car park to the hotel, I whipped out my iPod and cranked Sugababes’ ‘Here Come The Girls’ as high as the speakers would allow. Tickets ripped and hands stamped, we claimed a table as our own and marked territory with bags and discarded layers. After a while of overpriced drinks, but admittedly but 12:45 it was the best £2.10 I’d spent in a long while, and good music with still no one on the dance floor, the suggestion was made that we lead by example. This we did. For two and a half hours. We were the only once on that dance floor for the first few hours, dancing to anything; Pink’s ‘Raise Your Glass’, which I am told is the Trek Babe anthem, Blood Hound Gang, Star Trekking Across The Universe, Rest In Peace, TARDIS square dance. I also distinctly remember dancing like a stripper to Rihanna’s ‘S&M’. There is a story to that and relates to the cosplay I had in mind the next day, but it was a favourite number of mine at the last GeekBop. So there I was singing along, arms crossed behind my back as if in bondage and tossing my head all over the place. And the whole time Sean Astin was standing behind me. We’d clocked him earlier in the night when he’d arrived and we’d hoped he’d join us be we think we may have scared him off a little. Well him and everyone else. We were likened to rabid monkeys on more than one occasion. Despite this, we feel that we were entitled to a refund of the ticket price as we basically provided the evening’s entertainment. The next few hours are a bit of a blur, we lost Lucy to deep conversations on intellectual topics to various people and me to coconut shy….. Yeah, we are graduating from the same university people. There’s also the memory of Fiona and I dancing and singing along to Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ like drunk bridesmaids at a reception. And there was a conga line involving ducks…..
After a hazardous return journey, the heavens had opened not long after ‘It’s Raining Men’, where’s my Cumberbatch and Hiddleston Nature!?!? *shake fist*, we crashed into bed at 2.15am in various states of dehydrated. Would have been fine, we were sleeping in a bit the next morning, the crowds where not going to be so bad and apparently the major stars where not attending the Sunday. All well and good, but I had to get up early to do my hair.
Part the Fourth - Second Tour of Duty
My cosplay of choice was Miss Irene Adler of BBC’s Sherlock fame. This wasn’t the first time I’d worn it in public but the last time had been in the relative safety of the St Andrews student union with friends and a bit of liquid courage. Here I was still with friends but also out in public and although a bit of drink would have been wonderful to stave off the cold, not at 7:30am.
So hair up, curled, pinned and doused in hair spray, Belstaff style black coat firmly in place, make-up applied and leather riding crop stashed up the sleeve, I was ready… ish. We loaded luggage into the two cars that the free and independent spirits had come in instead of public transport, checked out and headed to the stadium again, in still pretty dire weather. A little later than we were hoping to be, we huddled in the minimal shelter provided by the stadium wall, grouped like hung-over penguins.
Once in and armed with virtual cueing tickets, Louise Brealey, Sherlock’s Molly, for myself and Hannah Spearritt, of S Club and Primeval fame, for everyone else, we headed across the way to the large Asda, dodging puddles as we went, for breakfast. Dom, who had stuck with us through the party and who had not shunned us for our ridiculous dancing, was again in Tenth Doctor garb, and Colleen and Ann where Dr Song and Pirate!Amy respectively. Before each of us could struggle through our respective fry-ups, we were all warned that there would be a wait before we could actually be served. There was a bit of head scratting at this, because it wasn’t overly early, before we remembered two things: 1. It was a Sunday, and 2. It was jubilee weekend. It’s very difficult to feel patriotic when you are tired and groggy as hell but we tried.
The morning passed in a similar bleary state as Saturday’s had; we did things, things were definitely done but can’t remember anything of detail, apart from a few things but these will forever be burned into my memory for reasons that will become apparent.
The weather was still grim with persistent drizzle and a bitingly cold wind. Parts of the stadium had leaked over the course of the night. As we were walking around, there were members of staff announcing in loud voices that it was unsafe to run and we needed to go slow. I may have said something along the lines of ‘Well, the Doctor Who lot are buggered then, aren’t they?’ A few hours of wondering around looking at tat and talking self out of buying tat was punctuated with pit stops in the evaluator bay. Here was a good spot to see people come and go and it was here that we met someone, a journalist, who was paid to attend events like this. At this point we all turned on her, demanding how we get her job. She ate lunch with us, before disappearing to go and interview some of the cast members of ‘The Game Of Thrones.’ I want her job…..
After having my photo taken in a wallpaper dealer’s booth, Irene Adler sat looking a little confused at the interior of the Tardis, it was decided that we ought to cash in on the various virtual tickets. It turned out that the queue to see Hannah Spearritt was endless and indeed would never end for our group. By the end of the day, her queue was still too long for us to tackle and we gave up. Apparently she’s new to the convention circuit and it shows in her signing and people skills. So instead I had a bit of an audience as I went in costume to go and see Molly, and this is where the burning starts…..
Standing in line, with Fiona, Colleen and Lucy, most importantly Lucy, for moral support, I started to get a little nervy at about 4 people to go. When I got to the front of the queue, I got very star-struck, my brain to mouth line shut down all together and the internal flailing commenced. Lucy, recognising a ‘System Error’ notice when she sees one, did some much appreciated poking and baiting to get me functioning again. I was talking to Louise and looking her in the eye and everything! I even gave her one of my Moriarty business cards I’d made last year! Louise and Lucy had started talking about my costume whilst I was deciding which picture I’d like her to sign, there was a beautiful portrait I really liked but I settled on a group picture of Molly, Sherlock and John from ‘The Reichenbach Fall’. When I surfaced and re-joined the conversation, Louise turned to me with a grin… The next few minutes will be delivered in script form to minimise the shame.
Louise Brealey, A.K.A. Molly Hooper, i.e. Cambridge graduate and a star of one of my all-time favourite television series: So, are you an authentic Irene Adler?
Me: *blink* What?
Louise: Have you got anything on under there?
Me: Oh, um, yes. Just black leggings and….
Lucy: *cutting in like a conversation ninja* Ask to see her bra.
Louise: What?
Me: Aha, yeah, umm, ignore her….
Lucy: Ask, to see, her bra.
Louise: *shrug* OK, I’m game, let’s see the bra then.
Colleen and Fiona: Oh yeah, the bra!
Me: Err….
Louise: *sensing my distress* Can you just show us a strap?
Me: *defeated sign* No, it… Oh God….
*Starts unbuttoning jacket*
*Pause*
*Claps hands over face*
No, I cannot flash Molly Hooper!
Everyone: DO IT!
So, in the end, I flashed Molly Hooper from Sherlock. And her handler. My bra is a source of pride, and I have flashed it before, but again it was in the safety of St Andrews and with a little bit of liquid courage and not at an esteemed actress who I will see in Series 3 of Sherlock and want to curl up and die. The bra is just a bog standard black t-shirt bra that I have attacked with white acrylic paint. Along the top of the left cup I painted Irene’s measurements: 32-24-34. And on the right cup I painted the ‘I AM SHER LOCKED’ as seen on Irene’s phone. So of course no use in pulling a strap out of the collar. After exclamations of delight from the far side of the table and a great deal of embarrassment from mine, I stood there red faced and shell shocked whilst Louise regarded the picture I had selected, giggling quietly.
Louise: *Pause* Now, you see, I really want to write something about-
Everyone in the immediate area : DO IT!
Me: *dies*
And so, I stood there, baring a photo of Louise, Benedict and Martin signed ‘To Pippa. Amazing breasts! Love from Louise Brealey.’
One of the reasons I chose the group photo was that I thought if I was lucky, I could one day get all three of them to sign it. My concern is now, if I ever meet either of them and hold it together long enough to ask them to sign it, how do I explain that, because I know they are both gentlemen but I doubt they could just ignore it. Two schools of thought were gifted to me when I voiced these concerns at the table.
Louise: I suggest you flash them as well….
Lucy: How is this something you wouldn't want them to know from a reliable source, considering your feelings for the both of them?
Me: *dies*
In a state of shock, I was herded around the venue once more in a futile attempt at Hannah Spearritt’s queue, before we ventured into the dealers’ room once more. I spent some time talking myself out of purchases, a S.H.I.E.L.D. key ring, a number of posters and Harry Potter replica wands, before I got myself a handful of small badges to add to those on my canvas bag. I did not complete escape temptation of expenditure however, and once again Lucy is to blame, along with Colleen. There was a dealers’ booth that Lucy had been eyeing up for the last day and a half which specialised on steel boned corsets. I wondered past to see Lucy finishing up her purchase of a very sophisticated pinstriped number and Colleen looking wistfully at the various corsets on the display rack. As if smelling the fresh blood of the new arrival, both of them turned, Lucy with a cheerful ‘Your turn!’ and bundled me in the direction of the sales lady. As I was still dressed as Irene Adler, there was a moment of hiding behind my own coat and pulling a t-shirt on for the sake of decency. Not that it really counted for much at that point in the day.
Now, Lucy keeps verbally Gibbs-slapping me for it, but I have some very deep rooted body issues. Combination of seasonal yo-yoing of weight, Father not being exactly diplomatic about the issue of my weight and years of some less then supportive words from school peers who made me look like a Clydesdale among show ponies. I’m a big girl, with a wardrobe ranging from 12s to 22s depending on make and item. There’s a lot of me, but under it all there is an hour glass figure. Sort of. I’d worn a corset before, but that was a plastic boned one for a production of ‘Ruddigore’ in second year and was agony to wear. The boning bent and us with it. I had to put in under my mattress ever night to get it serviceable for the next show. But the lady running the store gave me a once over and declares I have the perfect figure for a corset. And it is this point when I pick up my much pondered line of thought: ‘yeah, I would have been a catch in 19th century!’ Lucy however took this as a personal victory.
After being measured I stared perusing the rails and quickly picked out a green on black over bust one. The main body was black with emerald green detailing forming peacock feathers and silver steel clasps running down the front. It immediately appealed to me. The peacock feathers appealed to the part of me still firmly rooted in my degree topic and the fact that the peacock is an emblem of my home area. I also feel a lot more at home with myself when I wear green, think it might be some sort of psychological link to family history with the army or that I grow up in a very green part of the country. Don’t know, I just like wearing green.
After some heaving and winching, I was in. After the initial shock of seeing my body in that shape, I felt the burning need to have a gun holster on my thigh. I wanted a big skirt and a pistol. I really liked it and the audience seemed to approve. I’d gained another on-looker, who Collen was convincing to try on some of the stock. Lucy fished my riding crop out of my affects and held it out or me to take. After taking it and borrowing Colleen’s glasses, Lucy declared I had a new career line ahead of me. It has since been decided that my working name would be that of ‘The Duchess’, not entirely sure how that happened but it’s always good to have options in the current job market. After trying a long line one which flattered the hips more but left me round shouldered, I bought the original green number. Not cheap at £60 but I am making up excuses to wear it. I’ve decided that if I ever do end up in a desk job, I will be the one keeping the office on its’ toes by wearing a corset on inspection days. There are also vague ideas floating round my head with regard to a fem!Loki cosplay. Now I just need a lot of black leather…..
On our trips round the venue I’d been keeping an eye out for a Sherlock to glomp. After a fleeting glimpse of one in the queue that morning, there was none to be seen. I did however come across a group who were dressed as some of the fem!Sherlock ensemble, including a Moriarty and Mycroft. Their Jim did catch my eye and waved me over, asking if I was indeed Irene. I said yes and asked if she was Jim. She said yes sheepishly, saying they’d been impressed with my effort as the group started to assemble behind her. They looked about school age rather than university. The distance between me and the rest of the group was widening and I was in danger of losing them. I asked Jim if she would do me a favour. Looking confused she nodded and I handed her a fistful of my Moriarty business cards with a hurried ‘Hand these out for me would you?’ and hurried away to catch up. As I left, I heard a collection of gasps and squeals behind me. Lucy turned to grin at me and say I may have just have made someone’s day a bit more awesome.
Clutching my new purchase, I peeled off from the main group to go to a photo shoot I’d got a ticket to the day before. Whilst in the queue, some of the staff complimented me on my costume and I can’t remember how but it led to another view of the bra, the damn thing is dangerous….. Anyway, I slowly got to the front of the queue and again the nerves and an acute sense of embarrassment started to advance on me. I came into sight of the photo point and Louise Brealey looked up, grinned and gave me a cheerful, “Hello again!” as I went and stood next to her. She put an arm around me and turning to the camera announced to the room at large, “We all know what needs to happen now don’t we!” She giggled at the various looks of confusion while I stood there burning again and muttered, “I am NOT flashing the camera. Not without advanced payment.” She out right laughed while I clapped a hand over my mouth and mentally screamed “Irene, get back in your damn box!” Once we’d both recovered enough to have the photo taken, and I must say I am rather proud of it because I don’t usually photograph well I’ve got a bit of a squint, I shuffled away with some good-byes and thank yous. Out in the lobby, where bags and personal belongings where stashed, I caught one of the members of staff sheepishly stuffing
my corset back in its’ bag, apologising rapidly saying she hadn’t meant to look but it had caught her eye. I told her it was fine and we had a quick natter about the corset stall, my costume and the fact that I had been armed with a leather riding crop all day. In receiving the title ‘minx’ in a warm good bye, it kind of hit me on the way out. What the buggering hell had happened to me!?!? I am possibly the most inexperienced 22 year old I know, I was a wallflower for most of my life and come from a rather conservative, but not really prudish, family. Yet here I am, flashing complete strangers and making promises I sure as hell didn’t know I could back up. Between them, St Andrews, Lucy and most recently Moffat have created a monster. I’m not sure Lucy will appreciate having Moffat as a partner in crime, she’s done all the hard grafting for one thing, but Irene has had a defiant hand in all this. Going back on the conservative family comment, before leaving for Milton Keynes there was a fun moment when I wheeled my small suitcase past my father with the riding crop sticking out of it. He just looked at me balefully before sighing and walking away saying he didn’t want to know. He still doesn’t know about the corset.
Part the Fifth - Given Leave
In the early afternoon, everyone’s energy levels seemed to go into free fall and more and more visits to the elevator bay were made to recuperate. Executive decisions were made and the group started to disperse and head to the various regions of the country called home. Lucy very kindly gave me a lift to the station allowing me to miss the worst of the rain and after a hurried goodbye in the taxi rank and me making her promise to take it easy on the drive home, I barrelled into the station to find a route home. I had spent breakfast consulting various smart phones for train times but it all seemed in vein as with the combination of weather and the Jubilee celebrations, nothing was going north. My only option was south to Euston and then head east to King’s Cross and then north to Grantham. Battle plan constructed, I made it down to the platform to find my south bound train already there. Abandoning my original plan of changing in the station toilets in favour of warmth and a bit of a sit down I hopped onto the near empty train. Stuffing the suitcase and sleeping bag into respected hiding places and pulling out a change of civvies, I sat down for a moment just to collect myself a bit before heading off to find a loo to change in.
And that is how I fell asleep on the London bound train and woke up in Euston station.
Still dressed as Irene Adler.
On the day of the Jubilee flotilla.
Still, all good practise for a possible career choice.
Head high and heels clicking I disembarked, found that my ticket wouldn’t let me use the tube and proceeded to walk the distance between Euston and King’s Cross stations in the pouring rain. Quite a few heads turned and there was definite at least one picture. I can’t remember who, may been Lucy or Craig, but when I relayed this part of my adventure to someone they commented that I must have looked like I was off to honour an arrangement made with a certain young female royal personage.
There was more staring in King’s Cross, especially when I needed to find a platform guard. My ticket was a return to Nottingham, when really I was better off jumping the line early at Grantham, so I needed to get on the East Coast line but of course because of the roundabout nature of my journey the scanning gates were not letting me through. I found a young, impressionable train guard, explained my story, fluttered my eye lashes a bit and with my knowledge of the East Coast route convinced him that I intended to get to Nottingham via Grantham. Thanking him sweetly, I scurried off and jumped on the north bound train with a few minutes to spare. As it was a bit over crowded and I only had an hour or so of a journey so I stood in the vestibule until we pulled away. So, yeah more staring. Managed to change in the loo with only a little bit of swearing and banging off the walls and soon I was in brogues, jeans and t-shirt. There’d been knocking at the door so I ended up letting my hair down in the corridor, pins between the teeth. Although not a tradition way to spend the Jubilee, I did feel rather British: soaked by rain, cursing public transport, dress as the embodiment of the nation’s sexual repressions exploited and ready to kill for a cup of tea.
All in all, a fine adventure. Thank you to my guides and chaperones for maybe not keeping me out of trouble as such but at least keeping me off any government lists or restraining orders.
OK, few ground points. At secondary school, no doubt it will feature in many a future post, especially is the terms ‘bitterness’ and ‘issues’ are involved, the crazy had to be tampered down on, purely as a survival mechanism. So after 7 years of hiding the geeky colours, I get to a tiny university city where the students have to make their own entertainment, and, cue flood gates opening.
Well, not so much flood gates, at least not for the first few years, still nervy and shy, but recently years, yeah, flying the geeky flag. There are a number of architects responsible for this transformation. The numerous members of Project Anime, DocSoc, SciFa, G&S, Mostly Harmless, OTC. Individual of note include Academic family; Kat, Amanda, Andrew and Luke. Brilliant friends; Jimmy, Deirdre, Hugh, Connor, Fiona, Tom, Luke, Sian, Dara, Ruaridh, Emily, Maria and Chloe. And Head Engineer in Chief moralrelativist, Lucy.
As well as making my university life worth living, these people went above and beyond the call of duty, introducing me to the likes of classic Who and Firefly and thus enriching my life beyond recognition. I still have much to learn from these great teachers, and I intend to as long as where ever I end up has WiFi. But before St Andrews could spit us out in an official capacity, they had one more rite of nerdy passage to put me through. Convention.
Part the First - Deployment
After a few months of ‘umming’ and ‘ahhing’ about it, because I can’t plan ahead to save my life, seriously, it’s rare I can give a confirmation of where I will be at the end of the week at any given time, I asked Lucy if she and the Trek Babes would mind awfully taking me under their wing and show me around Collectormania 18 in Milton Keynes. I was told to pack my Starfleet issued uniform and to be there on Friday 1st.
Armed with a sleeping bag, wheeled suitcase and satchel, I travelled from Nottingham railway station. Arrived at Milton Keynes station and was greeted by Lucy, who was like myself sporting the rare and sort after DocSoc hoodie. We hiked across the concrete Shangri-La to the Travel Lodge that was to act as our base for the weekend.
After being introduced to the group, most of whom I knew at least tentatively, we settled down in the bigger of the two rooms, well I say bigger it just had more people staying in it, for dinner and a viewing of How I Got News For You. Alistair Campbell being slowly torn apart on screen. As a Conservative and a military girl, it felt good. Dinner was a Dominoes delivery with the pre-meal entertainment of Colleen, hathy_col, being handed a notepad and pen and going into scary, efficient mode. This led to me asking if I could have what I wanted to order as opposed to simply telling her. I go meek when scared.
The night ended the laying out of costumes for the next day and Fiona and I bucking all social expectations and insisting David took the double bed. Fiona took the sofa and I had the mattress on the floor thing that the sofa spat out like an afterthought. Wasn’t fussed, can sleep pretty much anywhere.
Part the Second - First Tour of Duty
I had been warned. Conventions meant early start and queuing. I’d also been told that Rule #1 to be observed was showering. Made a tactical decision and stashed deodorant in my bag instead, I’m not terribly fast in the morning. The Trek Babes, which included David, are an exclusive group that one can be invited to and the U.S.S. TYRE IRON is always on the lookout for new canon fodd- erm, I mean crew members. The Trek Babes are characterised by the original series uniforms, so the short dresses. Fiona, Colleen, Lucy and Ann all had the legs for the hem lines but myself, I am of Welsh stock and not so much. The all looked like Star Fleet’s finest; Fiona, in her Ann Summers red dress, Ann in red, Colleen in command gold and Lucy in science blue. I have had in the back of my wardrobe, a homemade red shirt. It’s just a red primark t-shirt with yellow felt and gold ribbon in the appropriate place. I made it for the SciFa Star Trek viewing of Spock-tober last year and I also survived a zombie pub crawl in it…. Still not sure how that happened…. So I was geared up in the red shirt and black trousers, hair up and with the most Uhura-esque earrings that I could find in Primark the day before. The fact that I was in trousers was a topic of debate on the bus, where we were able to do little but look at the world of Milton Keynes through streamed windows and bleary eyes, occasionally shouting “Hash tag TREKBABES!” like a strange version of Tourettes. I was ready for this one and declared that with my history of cadet and OTC service, I was munitions and couldn’t be loading massive gun breaches and carrying out my duty in the heat of battle in a miniskirt. Lucy also decided that with my Zoology degree I had to look after George and Gracie.
I don’t remember much about the queuing for our John Barrowman virtual queuing tickets, bit meta that, only the odd thing. That cigarette smoke can really linger, that some of the stereotypes are true, and that there was a woman behind us with the best damn leather jacket I’ve ever seen. It was a Captain America biker jacket, white star and all, and oh my days I want one. Once the doors were opened, I was swept through the doors, grabbed by the collar and dragged in the correct direction. That pretty much set the tone for the whole weekend.
We spent a while stood in line for photo op tickets for a variety of different guests and also for the Convention party that evening. One thing I learnt very quickly was that this weekend was not going to be kind to the old immune system. Having just about recovered from the obligatory ‘End of Semester’ flu, I wasn’t looking forward to the beating it was going to take. With this in mind, I purchased a ticket to a party that was going to keep me up til arse-o’clock in the morning and wandered merrily on my way in a thin cardigan around an open football stadium whilst the outside world blew a gale.
Meeting John Barrowman was a little strange. Firstly I didn’t really meet him, it was more a David and Fiona met him and I hung back a little shell shocked. However the guy in front of us asked John to record a message to his significant other and John obliged with barely controlled glee. I can’t remember the exact wording he used, but I do remember rolling my eyes and muttering, ‘Not now Captain’, because the moment needed it.
On our laps around the stadium, if anyone was handing out virtual queuing tickets, rule of thumb was, you took one. People who I’d never heard of or the shows they were in, but still take a ticket and tuck it in the bra. Probably a good thing considering how many damn people there were. It was quite scary and travelling in a group resulted in a bit of conga lining in order to stay together. Apparently this was a good plan, as we saw Brian Blessed doing exactly the same thing with his handler. Is handler the right term? Anyway, there was lots of going round and round dodging the rain and the occasional R2D2. The elevator bay through the dealers room became a base of sorts, with radiators and carpet.
Despite being a little scared, tired and cold, there were moments of gold. Colleen got her photo taken with Paul McGann, 8th Doctor, at this point someone who I still had not met, and in the going in for a cuddle, for he appears to be a cuddler, she accidentally put her arm up the back of his jacket. Although she paniced, she stuck to her guns and her hand stayed there for the photo. She reappeared muttering to herself in horror, something along the lines of puppetry and Sesame Street.
All of that was forgotten in the face of Finn Jones, Game of Throne’s Knight of Flowers, who we all walked by, then did a double take and just gazed at him. The boy is so cherubic and darling and he can horse ride and, yeah there was some gushing and hugs all round. Colleen got a signing from him and a few photos, the flashes of which are to blame as the catalysis the day that we receive news of the immaculate conception of golden haired angel spawn. That smile cause pregnancy ladies, be warned!
A few of us also stood in line to meet Sean Astin, Samwise Gamgee, later in the afternoon. Sean was one of the first names to draw me to Collectormania as despite only really coming into my nerdiness these last couple of years, I got into Lord of the Rings at secondary school. At my school, fangirling over geekiness was an offence punished with social shunning, but fangirling over Orlando Bloom was just fine. Loop hole observed and exploited. No offence to Legolas but I was always more of a hobbit girl, love you Billy! And Dom! And - oh sod it, I love all of them! Anyway, despite the cold and wind, Sean was chatty, smiley and so warm. Apologising for running off for a comfort break and shuffling back behind his table he was all smiles and handshakes. He was rather impressed with our costumes and posed for a quick photo. At this point I heard a ‘don’t leave me hanging’ from behind me and there he was, waiting for a high-five-turn-hand-grasp from me. I just wanted to huggle him.
Meeting Nichelle Nichols was an almost spiritual thing for us. We’d all come as Trek Babes and my nerd re-birth had be triggered in a big way by Star Trek. Meeting her was like stepping in front of a phoenix or something. OK, very flowery language I know, but really she was. Sedate and calm and magnificently done up with jewellery and silver hair. She sat there and gave off aura of 'I have dealt with Shatner, I have dealt with Nimoy, I have dealt with Takei. I can handle anything you divas wish to throw at me.' Again there was much star struckness, especially from me. She also said my name was beautiful!
There was a little bit of cross-over between the fandoms that day as well. Star Fleet received a liaison representative from the Time Lords. About late morning, a 10th Doctor walks over to a small group of us and asks us if we supported *insert name of football team who play in white/blue/yellow, he told us but I can’t remember*. Dom, for that was the young man’s name we learnt, had noticed the hallowed DocSoc scarves. Long scarves of blue, white and yellow bands which reportedly make Peter Davison break out in a cold sweat whenever he sees them. After having the history of these scarves explained to him by Lucy, and moving on to the St Andrews university geek societies and then just geek and society in general, Dom, who was on his lonesome, joined our group. It was only really mean to be for a few minutes and kinda ended up being for the whole weekend. That is an important lesson I learned at Con. Waifs and strays will be accepted into the herd if you are warm, engaging and have made a good go of the cosplay. It also greatly helped that there was the addition of another set of ‘XY’ chromosomes to the group, which halted the growth of David’s developing sympathetic uterus. To be fair he was coping remarkably well in a group with six girls, but he was taking more time in the bathroom than Fiona and me combined.
Towards the end of the day as the crowds thinned and the weather brightened, the strain started to catch up on us all and a group of us made the decision to head back to take tactical showers and/or naps before dinner and that evening’s party. On the way out however, we passed Paul McGann’s table. Now I am a big fan of Doctor Who but I have little knowledge of anything pre-Tennant. Yeah, fangirl…. Anyway, I saw the Doctor Who movie last year in DocSoc and came to the conclusion that the actor was very good but the writers were on something, and not the good stuff. Paul McGann had no one at his table and was gazing around during the lull of activity. Lucy grabbed me by the shoulders and right wheeled the group up to the table for a natter. The first thing that hit me was; damn, they had not been joking. The others, to whom this is all old hat, had met Paul McGann before and had unanimously decided he was a wonderful, wonderful man. He looked up and smiled at us all, seeming to appreciate the company and reached out to shake hands. He took my hand and looked at me with something akin to concern because I went very still and quiet. I have a thing for older men, there is a list which no doubt will make its’ way onto live journal, and the combination of his voice, kind smile and the interest he had for each of us and the attention he paid to Lucy when they got into a discussion on Nichelle Nichols’ role in the civil rights movement put him firmly on that list. Lucy can do that by the way, she can manage the flailing that the majority of us succumb to and can have a serious discussion about damn near anything with damn near anyone. She had a debate on quantum physics with Callum Blue. I don’t think I know a sharper cookie and she’s good enough to be seen with a philistine like me in public. Anyway, in the end we head out to the bus stop, I with a shy smile on my face and a mutter confession that I may have just fallen in love a little bit. I was clapped on the shoulder and welcomed to the club.
On the bus, reassuming our natural positions at the front of the top deck, Lucy once again showed off her brains in a stunning display of eloquence. After a few initially loutish comments about our costumes, two guys across the aisle asked if the uniforms where relevant to us individually. Lucy was in science blue and knows brains, in terrifying detail in some respects. She’s used me as a test subject before now, which was harmless enough, but after ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ episode of SHERLOCK this year I made her promise no Project H.O.U.N.D. stuff. The group of us sat and listen to her explain her research on the brain and visual cortex, being accurate and yet still phrasing it so a hippy scientist such as me, zoology, could understand and the guy seemed to follow and was genuinely interested. He turned to me and asked what I did. I just smiled dangerously and said ‘I load the guns and feed the whales’ and left it at that. My dissertation was on flightless New Zealand birds, not many of them in space….
Part the Third - Night Patrol
Once back in the correct room, after pleading at the desk for an access key, and a shower, I started to feel a bit more human. After a dirt cheap and damn good meal, felt invincible. With Dom joining our ranks once more and Louise on sentry duty, in the room, in bed, we kitted up in Star Fleet garb once more and returned to the venue.
The shuttle, a Volvo Peugeot, piloted by Lucy got us to the party a little after doors open and well before anyone was on the dance floor. We made an attempt at an entrance; some of the sensible shoes of the day had been exchange with some with a little more swag. So as we walked from the car park to the hotel, I whipped out my iPod and cranked Sugababes’ ‘Here Come The Girls’ as high as the speakers would allow. Tickets ripped and hands stamped, we claimed a table as our own and marked territory with bags and discarded layers. After a while of overpriced drinks, but admittedly but 12:45 it was the best £2.10 I’d spent in a long while, and good music with still no one on the dance floor, the suggestion was made that we lead by example. This we did. For two and a half hours. We were the only once on that dance floor for the first few hours, dancing to anything; Pink’s ‘Raise Your Glass’, which I am told is the Trek Babe anthem, Blood Hound Gang, Star Trekking Across The Universe, Rest In Peace, TARDIS square dance. I also distinctly remember dancing like a stripper to Rihanna’s ‘S&M’. There is a story to that and relates to the cosplay I had in mind the next day, but it was a favourite number of mine at the last GeekBop. So there I was singing along, arms crossed behind my back as if in bondage and tossing my head all over the place. And the whole time Sean Astin was standing behind me. We’d clocked him earlier in the night when he’d arrived and we’d hoped he’d join us be we think we may have scared him off a little. Well him and everyone else. We were likened to rabid monkeys on more than one occasion. Despite this, we feel that we were entitled to a refund of the ticket price as we basically provided the evening’s entertainment. The next few hours are a bit of a blur, we lost Lucy to deep conversations on intellectual topics to various people and me to coconut shy….. Yeah, we are graduating from the same university people. There’s also the memory of Fiona and I dancing and singing along to Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ like drunk bridesmaids at a reception. And there was a conga line involving ducks…..
After a hazardous return journey, the heavens had opened not long after ‘It’s Raining Men’, where’s my Cumberbatch and Hiddleston Nature!?!? *shake fist*, we crashed into bed at 2.15am in various states of dehydrated. Would have been fine, we were sleeping in a bit the next morning, the crowds where not going to be so bad and apparently the major stars where not attending the Sunday. All well and good, but I had to get up early to do my hair.
Part the Fourth - Second Tour of Duty
My cosplay of choice was Miss Irene Adler of BBC’s Sherlock fame. This wasn’t the first time I’d worn it in public but the last time had been in the relative safety of the St Andrews student union with friends and a bit of liquid courage. Here I was still with friends but also out in public and although a bit of drink would have been wonderful to stave off the cold, not at 7:30am.
So hair up, curled, pinned and doused in hair spray, Belstaff style black coat firmly in place, make-up applied and leather riding crop stashed up the sleeve, I was ready… ish. We loaded luggage into the two cars that the free and independent spirits had come in instead of public transport, checked out and headed to the stadium again, in still pretty dire weather. A little later than we were hoping to be, we huddled in the minimal shelter provided by the stadium wall, grouped like hung-over penguins.
Once in and armed with virtual cueing tickets, Louise Brealey, Sherlock’s Molly, for myself and Hannah Spearritt, of S Club and Primeval fame, for everyone else, we headed across the way to the large Asda, dodging puddles as we went, for breakfast. Dom, who had stuck with us through the party and who had not shunned us for our ridiculous dancing, was again in Tenth Doctor garb, and Colleen and Ann where Dr Song and Pirate!Amy respectively. Before each of us could struggle through our respective fry-ups, we were all warned that there would be a wait before we could actually be served. There was a bit of head scratting at this, because it wasn’t overly early, before we remembered two things: 1. It was a Sunday, and 2. It was jubilee weekend. It’s very difficult to feel patriotic when you are tired and groggy as hell but we tried.
The morning passed in a similar bleary state as Saturday’s had; we did things, things were definitely done but can’t remember anything of detail, apart from a few things but these will forever be burned into my memory for reasons that will become apparent.
The weather was still grim with persistent drizzle and a bitingly cold wind. Parts of the stadium had leaked over the course of the night. As we were walking around, there were members of staff announcing in loud voices that it was unsafe to run and we needed to go slow. I may have said something along the lines of ‘Well, the Doctor Who lot are buggered then, aren’t they?’ A few hours of wondering around looking at tat and talking self out of buying tat was punctuated with pit stops in the evaluator bay. Here was a good spot to see people come and go and it was here that we met someone, a journalist, who was paid to attend events like this. At this point we all turned on her, demanding how we get her job. She ate lunch with us, before disappearing to go and interview some of the cast members of ‘The Game Of Thrones.’ I want her job…..
After having my photo taken in a wallpaper dealer’s booth, Irene Adler sat looking a little confused at the interior of the Tardis, it was decided that we ought to cash in on the various virtual tickets. It turned out that the queue to see Hannah Spearritt was endless and indeed would never end for our group. By the end of the day, her queue was still too long for us to tackle and we gave up. Apparently she’s new to the convention circuit and it shows in her signing and people skills. So instead I had a bit of an audience as I went in costume to go and see Molly, and this is where the burning starts…..
Standing in line, with Fiona, Colleen and Lucy, most importantly Lucy, for moral support, I started to get a little nervy at about 4 people to go. When I got to the front of the queue, I got very star-struck, my brain to mouth line shut down all together and the internal flailing commenced. Lucy, recognising a ‘System Error’ notice when she sees one, did some much appreciated poking and baiting to get me functioning again. I was talking to Louise and looking her in the eye and everything! I even gave her one of my Moriarty business cards I’d made last year! Louise and Lucy had started talking about my costume whilst I was deciding which picture I’d like her to sign, there was a beautiful portrait I really liked but I settled on a group picture of Molly, Sherlock and John from ‘The Reichenbach Fall’. When I surfaced and re-joined the conversation, Louise turned to me with a grin… The next few minutes will be delivered in script form to minimise the shame.
Louise Brealey, A.K.A. Molly Hooper, i.e. Cambridge graduate and a star of one of my all-time favourite television series: So, are you an authentic Irene Adler?
Me: *blink* What?
Louise: Have you got anything on under there?
Me: Oh, um, yes. Just black leggings and….
Lucy: *cutting in like a conversation ninja* Ask to see her bra.
Louise: What?
Me: Aha, yeah, umm, ignore her….
Lucy: Ask, to see, her bra.
Louise: *shrug* OK, I’m game, let’s see the bra then.
Colleen and Fiona: Oh yeah, the bra!
Me: Err….
Louise: *sensing my distress* Can you just show us a strap?
Me: *defeated sign* No, it… Oh God….
*Starts unbuttoning jacket*
*Pause*
*Claps hands over face*
No, I cannot flash Molly Hooper!
Everyone: DO IT!
So, in the end, I flashed Molly Hooper from Sherlock. And her handler. My bra is a source of pride, and I have flashed it before, but again it was in the safety of St Andrews and with a little bit of liquid courage and not at an esteemed actress who I will see in Series 3 of Sherlock and want to curl up and die. The bra is just a bog standard black t-shirt bra that I have attacked with white acrylic paint. Along the top of the left cup I painted Irene’s measurements: 32-24-34. And on the right cup I painted the ‘I AM SHER LOCKED’ as seen on Irene’s phone. So of course no use in pulling a strap out of the collar. After exclamations of delight from the far side of the table and a great deal of embarrassment from mine, I stood there red faced and shell shocked whilst Louise regarded the picture I had selected, giggling quietly.
Louise: *Pause* Now, you see, I really want to write something about-
Everyone in the immediate area : DO IT!
Me: *dies*
And so, I stood there, baring a photo of Louise, Benedict and Martin signed ‘To Pippa. Amazing breasts! Love from Louise Brealey.’
One of the reasons I chose the group photo was that I thought if I was lucky, I could one day get all three of them to sign it. My concern is now, if I ever meet either of them and hold it together long enough to ask them to sign it, how do I explain that, because I know they are both gentlemen but I doubt they could just ignore it. Two schools of thought were gifted to me when I voiced these concerns at the table.
Louise: I suggest you flash them as well….
Lucy: How is this something you wouldn't want them to know from a reliable source, considering your feelings for the both of them?
Me: *dies*
In a state of shock, I was herded around the venue once more in a futile attempt at Hannah Spearritt’s queue, before we ventured into the dealers’ room once more. I spent some time talking myself out of purchases, a S.H.I.E.L.D. key ring, a number of posters and Harry Potter replica wands, before I got myself a handful of small badges to add to those on my canvas bag. I did not complete escape temptation of expenditure however, and once again Lucy is to blame, along with Colleen. There was a dealers’ booth that Lucy had been eyeing up for the last day and a half which specialised on steel boned corsets. I wondered past to see Lucy finishing up her purchase of a very sophisticated pinstriped number and Colleen looking wistfully at the various corsets on the display rack. As if smelling the fresh blood of the new arrival, both of them turned, Lucy with a cheerful ‘Your turn!’ and bundled me in the direction of the sales lady. As I was still dressed as Irene Adler, there was a moment of hiding behind my own coat and pulling a t-shirt on for the sake of decency. Not that it really counted for much at that point in the day.
Now, Lucy keeps verbally Gibbs-slapping me for it, but I have some very deep rooted body issues. Combination of seasonal yo-yoing of weight, Father not being exactly diplomatic about the issue of my weight and years of some less then supportive words from school peers who made me look like a Clydesdale among show ponies. I’m a big girl, with a wardrobe ranging from 12s to 22s depending on make and item. There’s a lot of me, but under it all there is an hour glass figure. Sort of. I’d worn a corset before, but that was a plastic boned one for a production of ‘Ruddigore’ in second year and was agony to wear. The boning bent and us with it. I had to put in under my mattress ever night to get it serviceable for the next show. But the lady running the store gave me a once over and declares I have the perfect figure for a corset. And it is this point when I pick up my much pondered line of thought: ‘yeah, I would have been a catch in 19th century!’ Lucy however took this as a personal victory.
After being measured I stared perusing the rails and quickly picked out a green on black over bust one. The main body was black with emerald green detailing forming peacock feathers and silver steel clasps running down the front. It immediately appealed to me. The peacock feathers appealed to the part of me still firmly rooted in my degree topic and the fact that the peacock is an emblem of my home area. I also feel a lot more at home with myself when I wear green, think it might be some sort of psychological link to family history with the army or that I grow up in a very green part of the country. Don’t know, I just like wearing green.
After some heaving and winching, I was in. After the initial shock of seeing my body in that shape, I felt the burning need to have a gun holster on my thigh. I wanted a big skirt and a pistol. I really liked it and the audience seemed to approve. I’d gained another on-looker, who Collen was convincing to try on some of the stock. Lucy fished my riding crop out of my affects and held it out or me to take. After taking it and borrowing Colleen’s glasses, Lucy declared I had a new career line ahead of me. It has since been decided that my working name would be that of ‘The Duchess’, not entirely sure how that happened but it’s always good to have options in the current job market. After trying a long line one which flattered the hips more but left me round shouldered, I bought the original green number. Not cheap at £60 but I am making up excuses to wear it. I’ve decided that if I ever do end up in a desk job, I will be the one keeping the office on its’ toes by wearing a corset on inspection days. There are also vague ideas floating round my head with regard to a fem!Loki cosplay. Now I just need a lot of black leather…..
On our trips round the venue I’d been keeping an eye out for a Sherlock to glomp. After a fleeting glimpse of one in the queue that morning, there was none to be seen. I did however come across a group who were dressed as some of the fem!Sherlock ensemble, including a Moriarty and Mycroft. Their Jim did catch my eye and waved me over, asking if I was indeed Irene. I said yes and asked if she was Jim. She said yes sheepishly, saying they’d been impressed with my effort as the group started to assemble behind her. They looked about school age rather than university. The distance between me and the rest of the group was widening and I was in danger of losing them. I asked Jim if she would do me a favour. Looking confused she nodded and I handed her a fistful of my Moriarty business cards with a hurried ‘Hand these out for me would you?’ and hurried away to catch up. As I left, I heard a collection of gasps and squeals behind me. Lucy turned to grin at me and say I may have just have made someone’s day a bit more awesome.
Clutching my new purchase, I peeled off from the main group to go to a photo shoot I’d got a ticket to the day before. Whilst in the queue, some of the staff complimented me on my costume and I can’t remember how but it led to another view of the bra, the damn thing is dangerous….. Anyway, I slowly got to the front of the queue and again the nerves and an acute sense of embarrassment started to advance on me. I came into sight of the photo point and Louise Brealey looked up, grinned and gave me a cheerful, “Hello again!” as I went and stood next to her. She put an arm around me and turning to the camera announced to the room at large, “We all know what needs to happen now don’t we!” She giggled at the various looks of confusion while I stood there burning again and muttered, “I am NOT flashing the camera. Not without advanced payment.” She out right laughed while I clapped a hand over my mouth and mentally screamed “Irene, get back in your damn box!” Once we’d both recovered enough to have the photo taken, and I must say I am rather proud of it because I don’t usually photograph well I’ve got a bit of a squint, I shuffled away with some good-byes and thank yous. Out in the lobby, where bags and personal belongings where stashed, I caught one of the members of staff sheepishly stuffing
my corset back in its’ bag, apologising rapidly saying she hadn’t meant to look but it had caught her eye. I told her it was fine and we had a quick natter about the corset stall, my costume and the fact that I had been armed with a leather riding crop all day. In receiving the title ‘minx’ in a warm good bye, it kind of hit me on the way out. What the buggering hell had happened to me!?!? I am possibly the most inexperienced 22 year old I know, I was a wallflower for most of my life and come from a rather conservative, but not really prudish, family. Yet here I am, flashing complete strangers and making promises I sure as hell didn’t know I could back up. Between them, St Andrews, Lucy and most recently Moffat have created a monster. I’m not sure Lucy will appreciate having Moffat as a partner in crime, she’s done all the hard grafting for one thing, but Irene has had a defiant hand in all this. Going back on the conservative family comment, before leaving for Milton Keynes there was a fun moment when I wheeled my small suitcase past my father with the riding crop sticking out of it. He just looked at me balefully before sighing and walking away saying he didn’t want to know. He still doesn’t know about the corset.
Part the Fifth - Given Leave
In the early afternoon, everyone’s energy levels seemed to go into free fall and more and more visits to the elevator bay were made to recuperate. Executive decisions were made and the group started to disperse and head to the various regions of the country called home. Lucy very kindly gave me a lift to the station allowing me to miss the worst of the rain and after a hurried goodbye in the taxi rank and me making her promise to take it easy on the drive home, I barrelled into the station to find a route home. I had spent breakfast consulting various smart phones for train times but it all seemed in vein as with the combination of weather and the Jubilee celebrations, nothing was going north. My only option was south to Euston and then head east to King’s Cross and then north to Grantham. Battle plan constructed, I made it down to the platform to find my south bound train already there. Abandoning my original plan of changing in the station toilets in favour of warmth and a bit of a sit down I hopped onto the near empty train. Stuffing the suitcase and sleeping bag into respected hiding places and pulling out a change of civvies, I sat down for a moment just to collect myself a bit before heading off to find a loo to change in.
And that is how I fell asleep on the London bound train and woke up in Euston station.
Still dressed as Irene Adler.
On the day of the Jubilee flotilla.
Still, all good practise for a possible career choice.
Head high and heels clicking I disembarked, found that my ticket wouldn’t let me use the tube and proceeded to walk the distance between Euston and King’s Cross stations in the pouring rain. Quite a few heads turned and there was definite at least one picture. I can’t remember who, may been Lucy or Craig, but when I relayed this part of my adventure to someone they commented that I must have looked like I was off to honour an arrangement made with a certain young female royal personage.
There was more staring in King’s Cross, especially when I needed to find a platform guard. My ticket was a return to Nottingham, when really I was better off jumping the line early at Grantham, so I needed to get on the East Coast line but of course because of the roundabout nature of my journey the scanning gates were not letting me through. I found a young, impressionable train guard, explained my story, fluttered my eye lashes a bit and with my knowledge of the East Coast route convinced him that I intended to get to Nottingham via Grantham. Thanking him sweetly, I scurried off and jumped on the north bound train with a few minutes to spare. As it was a bit over crowded and I only had an hour or so of a journey so I stood in the vestibule until we pulled away. So, yeah more staring. Managed to change in the loo with only a little bit of swearing and banging off the walls and soon I was in brogues, jeans and t-shirt. There’d been knocking at the door so I ended up letting my hair down in the corridor, pins between the teeth. Although not a tradition way to spend the Jubilee, I did feel rather British: soaked by rain, cursing public transport, dress as the embodiment of the nation’s sexual repressions exploited and ready to kill for a cup of tea.
All in all, a fine adventure. Thank you to my guides and chaperones for maybe not keeping me out of trouble as such but at least keeping me off any government lists or restraining orders.