UKCAC97 Report

Contextual note. This was written a couple of nights after UKCAC97 in one sitting, stream of consciousness style. UKCAC was the unfortunate anacronym for the United Kingdom Comic Art Convention, the only fan based comics convention in the UK that tried to cover all genres and degrees of professionalism. It was started in the mid 80s and reached its height in the early 90s when comics was the new rock and roll (yes, really. And we believed it!). By 1997 things were seriously dying off as the big US publishers couldn't afford to come over and it ended up being a shadow of it's former self with attendance dropping every year. However, for us small press types we hardly noticed since our conventions were spent in the bar, as this report will testify.

While I didn't know it at the time, this was the last UKCAC in the traditional London setting. UKCAC98 was in Manchester and was the last one ever. We now have Comics2000 in Bristol (known as KevCAC to us veterans after it's organiser and long time fandom figure Kev Sutherland) which is trying for a more "festival" feel, involving the general public. Time will decide how it succeeds...

This was a strange UKCAC for me in that it was the most intense and yet the most relaxed I've been to. Maybe it was because this was my eighth UKCAC in nine years that I had it worked out. I dunno, but it went a little like this...

As per usual, Friday night was spent collating and stapling the latest issue ofVicious fanzine, but this time it was at Jez's relaxed middle class home, complete with home made vegetarian lasagna and a huge dining table, followed by American wrestling. Saturday started early - up at 6.45 and down to London on the train carrying two large A3 boxes of zines. I still maintain a rucksack would have been better, but there you go. Being hopelessly well prepared we arrived at the convention at 9.00am and waited for an hour before Frank Plowright would let us set up. I thought I might have made it first in the queue for once, but there were already four people there, standing outside. We went inside and looked scruffy in reception. Dek Baker and Chris Harper arrived. I searched for coffee and failed. Frank let us set up.

This year I had specifically asked for the primo spot under the stairs. The logic was quite simple - when manning a table all your mates go off the bar and it gets a bit lonely, especially as you don't want people standing in front of your produce. By using the alcove under the stairs there was plenty of room for people to come behind and chat, making for a much more relaxed environment and letting the public browse without being nudged out by inane conversations. People would start showing off their stuff and I'd invite them round. Then they didn't leave for ages. The mountain came to Mohammed, as it were.

I also had the idea of combining all the titles from the Brum Comics Pub Meet, with Vicious at one end and Chris Harper's Jack Kirby Quarterly at the other framing the rest. This worked wonders, as we had six (count 'em, six!) tables, dwarfing all others, especially Tripwire next to us. Combine this with Chris Askham’s wonderfully huge hand painted banner (Birmingham - Comics and Beer..) and you knew exactly where it was at.

Business was pretty brisk, but I didn’t really notice. The infamous Matthew Lawrenson arrived and duly took up his position behind the table (for the record, I never asked him to spend the whole convention selling my stuff - he just does it). He seemed a lot more cheerful this year, smiling occasionally and actually joining in conversations. He might actually have been a joy to be around Since this was my third Vicious table, the thrill had died somewhat, and I wasn’t pushing the zine so much, but still managed to sell out of V#6 by Sunday lunch. Strands #1 also went well, which was inspiring as I had no idea how it would be received. but even so, I was happy to just let it sell itself.

I only attended one event this year - the small press panel which wasn't actually much cop. All credit to Jenni Scott, Pete Pavement, Mooncat and Chris Webster for trying, but there didn't seem to be much to say. Odd really. Maybe people are quite happy to just get on with what they're doing, and perhaps Pete singing the praises of his wonderful new cheap colour copier thingy just wasn’t quite right. I dunno.

The dealers' hall was quite a surprise. Last year I spent no more than five minutes in there, but this time there were loads of curiosities. I knew all was right when I was confronted by a table full of A3 Marvel Treasury Editions. Not that I wanted to buy them, but they were interesting! There were also thankfully few Fantastic Four #l’s (60s, not 90s), after my depressing trip to a Brum mart where I saw over 20 of the things in a shitty church hall.

Absolutely no big publishers this year, even DC who have made all the others, but it didn't seem to matter. In fact, it added something as all the artists had their own tables with no PR bullshit, just like the old days. This little oasis behind the dealers also housed the UK indie publishers (Kane, Strangehaven, Sleaze Castle, etc) and while their presence was missed from the small press area, they seemed quite at home.

I didn't spend much time in the bar (although I was first there on Saturday - another old tradition revived!) but I did bump into Phil Hall and the dealer bloke who does the auction, who praised small press stuff for actually caring about the medium and getting things done. Earlier I'd chatted to Jody Ruth (and discovered he was a he, not a she...) who told me a throwaway line in a letter I couldn’t remember writing to him had caused a big panic about Comics International folding. Phil confirmed this, and I was both amazed at the power of rumour in this business and horrified that I was the cause of it. It does amuse me that people take this shit seriously - I honestly couldn't give a damn what someone says until I see it for myself. If CI actually folds then CI has folded. Up until then, it's still going as far as I'm concerned!

The rest of the day passed quite quickly as usual, having loads of decent chats and doing that UKCAC drinking thing where I drink steadily, maintaining a nice drunken haze through which I can function easily. The only hiccup was when Matthew messed up my accounting system. I had a go at him and he carried on regardless.

Then the convention closed. I dumped the zines with Pete Pavement (who was just inside the proper dealers bit and was therefore secure) and we went off to start drinking properly. Managing to lose half the people we were with, Dek, Chris, Matthew, David Morris, Jeremy Lewis, Martin Stephenson, Scott (whose surname I forget) and I went for a pub dinner and then trawled through the hotels trying to find people. Because of the National Comics Awards there was some confusion as to where people were meeting up, but eventually we found the hotel Russell and Jeremy and me had another deep philosophical discussion, while the others dumped their stuff. The others returned and we went to the awards. I didn't have a ticket so just walked in half way. Didn't even need to blag. We sat on the floor and watched Jonathan Ross make jokes and the usual people collect their awards. Garth Ennis won most of them. Dez Skinn was due to present an award but wasn't there. He later arrived from a Fleetway party with a free bar just in time to collect CI's award for best comics specialist publication or something, and waxed lyrical about how great it all was, to much sneering and sarcastic comments. Say what you like, he's a cad and a bounder, but he’s good at it. There were many breaks in the ceremony, and we missed the last part cos we had occupied one of the large tables outside the awards and were having a pub meet. While the people in DJs were sniggering at Ross' jokes, we were laughing like drains, tears streaming, at something or other. The awards ended and the party began. Chris went to get Jonathan Ross and to our surprise got him. Apparently he's a big Kirby fan and wanted to talk to Chris. While all around us were hobnobbing, we young turks had him all to ourselves, and we abused the situation, practicing Sporty Spice Girl kickboxing in his presence. Jonathan was not at all the star, a perfectly ordinary bloke happy to chat but more happy to arse about. Dek got him to rub his thighs. (That could be misconstrued - he rubbed his own thighs...)

People were leaving for another hotel, so we went with them. The bar was packed - all of UKCAC was there. The three staff couldn’t cope and when a whole tray of glasses were dropped the manager closed the bar and would only admit residents. We left and went back to the Russell. By this time Jeremy Dennis and Damian Cugley were in tow and I had a good chat with Jeremy about stuff, mainly how to organise a convention. Chris, meanwhile, had started singing. The lights were gradually turned off and the bar closed. Jeremy and Damian went back to Oxford (apparently the busses run all night) and we stayed until no-one else was there. Desperate for more drink (at least I was) we tried the Bloomsbury, the traditional post UKCAC haunt of late. Many people were there, including a shit faced Dez Skinn propping up the bar with some retailer who runs Reservoir Frogs. I asked him if he knew Ralph Kidson and immediately got his full attention. Can't remember what was discussed, although Dez did panic when Chris nearly got in a fight with Mr Frog. I just laughed and ordered another drink. The barman said he'd stay open til six if anyone was left. This was more like it.

Eventually others in our pack wanted to get back to the hotel (I think it was 4.00am) so we started walking. There was a fight going on outside and the porters were very reluctant to let us in. Those with keys got in but Dave Morris, Scott and myself didn’t as we had planned to crash on the floor. For the first and possibly last time I saw the dark side of Dave’s character as he stormed off into the night. Chris decided he didn’t want to stay in his hotel for some reason and joined us. We decided to head back to the Bloomsbury and at six find a cafe or something. After walking for miles around London and collecting hundreds of prostitutes' phonebox cards, we arrived back at the wrong hotel, so we tried a different circle and made it to the only block of London I know well. There were only two people left and the bar was closing, so we sat and chatted with the barman (who deserved a National Comics Award for services to fandom, in my view - he thought he was clocking off at one!) until he left and then made our way out at 5.30. Stopping off at the ever so-essential all night garage for chocolate, the two guys, one of whom was called Pete, said they were planning to crash on the 1st floor balcony of the UKCAC building away from muggers and police. We climbed up but Chris suddenly realised what he was doing and that he had paid for a hotel room. Scott went with him. After a final joint and a nice chat with Pete, we crashed out.

I awoke at eight shivering and feeling like shit. I rubbed my eyes only to discover the London grime on them from climbing the balcony. Eyes streaming and body aching, I climbed down from my tree house. Pete was wondering around and we went for coffee, and more coffee. I had a wash in a portaloo and we went back to UKCAC.

I didn’t really have a hangover, and the Sunday actually went very well due to the relaxed nature of it. Many more people came round the back of the tables, including the guys and gals from Epileptic Engine who I initially thought to be pretentious art wanks but who turned out to be fascinatingly disturbed. Frazer Irving brought along all of the completed The Man Who Learned To Fly and all were duly impressed by his wonderful art. I can't wait to publish the fucker and hope I do it justice. Jessica of Psychosense amused by being drunk. I commented to Rik Hoskin that Jess was behaving just like we used to a few years back. He agreed. John Coulthart passed by with the completed art for the next two Lord Horror comics, and Jez and I read through them in awe. They might not make sense, but they were the most amazing pieces of comic art I’ve seen in a long while. Found out Savoy only publish 2000 copies of each issue - criminal. I bumped into John again in the bar while looking at the overpriced sandwiches and he recommended a good grocery opposite Russell Square tube station where I picked up half a spit-roast chicken with chips and beans for £2.99. Amazing value for central London. I sat and ate this outside chatting with Wendy Ashall, new zine publisher of Fat Dog, who took over my job when I left the bookshop. At some point Jez and me invented Prostitute Phonebox Card Top Trumps with the hundred or so cards I 'd manically grabbed the night before which proved to be very playable. Matthew kept winning. Jenni Scott didn't seem at all impressed. At one point a young boy with mother passed the table and we all hid our cards in shame. All in all, a most pleasant Sunday with lots of stuff happening, but nothing too intense.

By the evening I was knackered and resisted Rik Hoskin's demands to come back to his place in Twickenham, so after a meal and a couple of drinks I went back to Brum with the rest of the posse. Monday was spent completely in bed and Tuesday was ruined by post-UKCAC-anticlimax stress-disorder, but I have to say this was the best UKCACs I’ve ever done, and I thought last years was great. I managed to combine a relaxed daytime schedule with a hectic and insane Saturday night. After a couple of days I realised I had been walking around Euston with over £100 in my pockets completely incapable of either confronting or running away from a mugger. I did have my long arm stapler though, and amusingly slept with it by my side, just in case...