coalescent

I was going to write something coherent about this, but then I decided to go for a list of assorted highlights instead.

But first, an introduction, for the benefit of those amongst you (and I know there are a couple) who have no idea what I've been doing. Caption is a small-press comics convention that takes place at about this time every year in the Oxford Union. It's been going for eleven years. These days, it's run by

tinyo,

oxfordslacker,

truecatachresis and

squigglyruth; by startling coincidence, this questionable foursome were the head honchos of OUSFG when I joined (it's somewhat scary to think that I'm now older than they were when I met them), which is how myself, Mike and Tom came to be roped in as con go-fers (or gophers, depending on your preference). We've done it for the past three years, now - it's almost a tradition. Caption has a theme every year; this year, it was Noir.

elleblue and Geneva have also gophered at Caption in the past, but they're in Greece just now, so they didn't this year. I only mention them because Tom pointed out a book of old-style movie posters in a shop window; the caption of the displayed example read "Pickup: they gave her a bad name, and she lived up to it."
Pickup being

elleblue's last name, you see.

Dammit. Can you tell I'm tired? It's been a long weekend. Anyway, on to the highlights (or at least notable points).

Friday evening, Tom, Victoria and I went to see Eight Legged Freaks. I recommend it to everyone, because it's fantastic. Utterly daft, but fantastic.

Crashspace was the floor of Tom and Victoria's flat. Well, in a sleeping bag on a futon-mattress on the floor. It was accurately described to me beforehand as 'like sleeping on a brick'. Still, on balance they were excellent hosts - thanks, guys.

Saturday morning, first job: Putting up cleanskies' Black Butterflies exhibit. This was an extremely fiddly process that involved hanging roughly 80 paper black butterflies on threads. Each butterfly carried two panels of a complete comic strip, so they had to be in order. They did look a bit fab when they were all up, though...

One of the best things about Caption is the Caption stall, which is where anyone can display their comics to be sold. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and the quality variable; but the good stuff can be very, very good. This year, the Caption table was the biggest I've seen it, to the point of spilling off the sides and down the corridor. Highlights? Square Eyed Stories, as usual. Fidget rocked. I only read the first issue of Hardly the Hog, but I was sold when two characters who looked suspiciously liked Milk and Cheese made an appearance. Comic of the weekend? Circus of Deception, by Anthony Setchell - noir clowns! Floating zombie heads! Magic afros! He doesn't seem to have a website that I can find, sadly; however, it was the only comic I bought, and sudden financial crisis be damned.

Not having to carry the evening pizzas for twenty minutes in pouring rain was a definite highlight

The National Theatre of Earth Prime (if you have to ask, etc) was in a sadly reduced state this year due to impending Baby on the part of one of the players. The theatre was, in fact, reduced solely to sparkymark, who nevertheless heroically persevered with his one-man take on Crisis on Infinite Earths. Rumours that he was forced into it by truecatachresis advertising the Theatre in the publicity for Caption without checking, on the basis that they've done it every other year, may or may not be unfounded. Nevertheless, it was as memorable an event as anything the Theatre has ever produced, and notable for such intriguing superhero demographics as the ethnic background breakdown (Hispanic: 1%. Ape: 2%).

That was saturday, then. Sunday was much more relaxed, consisting as it did only of cleanskies' workshop. In this, the Noir plot was broken down into its constituent parts and then reassembled into comics by three teams of eager Captioneers, using plot-variable generated randomly (by the 'ideas on pieces of paper pulled out of pint glasses' method). Lacking as I do any perceptible drawing talent, I was reduced to posing in a dirty mac for the role of 'client walking through door', and offering occasional suggestions about composition or captions. Still, I like to think the finished product was pretty damn good (title: The Dagger Was Cheap Steel). Especially the Sonic Werewolf Punch.

Somewhere in there I was intoduced to Tom's copy of Breaking Free, the anarchist Tintin graphic novel...

Sunday evening came and we retreated to the Turf. Then we discovered that the kitchen was closed for refusbiushmen and we had to go elsewhere for food, which meant that, steered by the influence of the indomitable Rubins sisters we ended up in Pizza Hut eating ice-cream factory. Not that I complained about that, of course.

Inevitably, we did end up in the Turf again afterwards. Conversation flitted between miming women priests, the titanitc duel of Pedantry Boy and Falling-Off-Bicycle-Twatman, whether you could transubstantiate enough bread and wine into a complete christ-golem (or hell, a whole army of golems), why all first contacts should only take place whilst both parties are roaring drunk ("sort of an intergalatic 'you're my besht mate!'", said Tom), and why we should vow to never read anything by Neil Gaiman ever again. OUSFG pub conversations are just the best ever.