I took a redeye out of Dulles Wednesday night, arriving at Heathrow earlier than I usually wake up at home … and exhausted. My United flight was deserted, with only two people in my nine-person row, and most of the cabin similarly empty, so we were all able to stretch out. But even so, I didn’t really sleep well. The flight, which was meant to take seven hours and 15 minutes, arrived early, and with drinks followed by dinner at the front end, and a breakfast snack at the other end, not much time was left to even try to snooze. So by the time I got to Brighton via bus, even with a bit of napping along the way, it felt as if I was running on fumes.

Not a good way to begin a con, particularly when I had a panel and a reading as some of the first programming items!

I couldn’t access my room early enough to take the nap I’d planned, which meant that when I finally got in, I only had time to dump my bags, take note of the ghostly remains out my window of a pier which had burned down (setting the proper mood for a World Fantasy Convention, I thought), and then rush off to my panel “Thanks for the Memories,” on which I was to reminisce with Kim Newman, Gary K. Wolfe, Roz Kaveney and Rodger Turner on all those we lost since last year’s WFC in Toronto.

Unfortunately, through a combination of exhaustion and the labyrinthine nature of the hotel, I didn’t arrive for the panel until 12 minutes in. There was still plenty of time to remember fallen friends, including one I’d entirely forgotten about until Geoff Ryman prompted us from the audience as to whether there was anyone in comics to celebrate, and I remembered the great Carmine Infantino. In retrospect, I realize we spent too much time on the superstars, that is, those with whom the audience was probably already familiar, the Ray Harryhausens of the world, and so ended up leaving out those not quite as famous, such as Rick Hautala and David Silva. Sorry! But remember them anyway, OK?

And then it was time for my reading. Were you there? Because I wasn’t!

For whatever reason—confusion, exhaustion, or both—I believed my 4:00 p.m. reading, which was to begin immediately after the end of the memorial panel, was actually at 4:30, and so as I wandered the bar and the dealers room for half an hour, others were wandering in search of me, and I arrived at the my reading to see poor Martel Sardina, the readings coordinator, rushing toward me wondering what had happened. My apologies to her and anyone who showed up hoping to hear me read. Sorry to have let you all down. If you regret not having heard my voice, you can watch an earlier reading here.

It was made obvious to me by these misadventures that I’d need a nap before dinner, so after my non-reading, I retreated to my room. I wanted to be fully present for my dinner at The Gingerman, one of two Brighton restaurants with menus that called to me.

One of my greatest regrets from the 2012 World Fantasy Convention (actually, perhaps my only regret, as it was that good a con) was that I missed a planned dinner with, among others, Farah Mendlesohn …

… because of a ukulele.

We were supposed to go to Barque Smokehouse one night, and I was having so much fun jamming on the ukulele one afternoon with Shelley Rae Clift that I lost track of time and only came to my senses after my hands started cramping, which caused me to I realize—hey, how long have I been playing anyway? It had been four hours. By then, the meal was almost over.

I’d planned to make up for that this year, and so reached out to Farah as the Brighton con neared, settled on a restaurant, and corralled Edward James, Shana Worthen (the only party I’d never met before, who turned out to be as insane a foodie as me), and Russell and Jenny Blackford to join us for a dinner which, based on the menu, we trusted would be memorable. And it was!

Our meal consisted of …

An amuse bouche of scallop, artichoke purée, and black pudding powder.

Appetizer of lamb sweetbread with lamb tongue, shallot, pear, and sorrell.

Pan fried bream with bacon croquettes, piccalilli spices, leeks, mustard, and garlic.

Fillet of beef with beef faggot, Jerusalem artichoke, red cabbage and red wine.

Roast hake with mussels, squid ink, coconut, and pak choi.

Confit pork belly with crispy pigs ears, black pudding, scotch egg and prune sauce. My favorite dish of the night.

Pistachio sponge with pistachios, yoghurt, and clementine.

Valrhona dark chocolate, with sea salt, hazelnuts and tonka bean ice cream.

Bramley apple soufflé with toffee and oat ice cream.

Obviously, we all didn’t eat everything, though we offered each other tastes. My three courses (after our amuse bouche) were the lamb sweetbreads, the pork belly, and the soufflé—all of which impressed me. I said above that the pork belly was my favorite, but honestly, the other dishes were so close in quality, preparation, and presentation that it was tough to declare one a true winner. I was happy with all my choices, satiated both physically and spiritually. A much better meal than I anticipated when I first considered Brighton, which I thought would be all fish and chips and Indian food.

Not that there’s anything wrong with either of those when done well, but I’ve yet to find them prepared in a way such as to rise from the level of comfort food to something transcendental. (I know, I need to get out more and eat more widely.)

In any case, sorry for underestimating you, Brighton. And thanks to the staff of The Gingerman, for such a great meal!

Once we returned to the hotel, I faded quickly, so if you searched for me in the bar, I wasn’t there. I needed to catch up on my sleep so I’d be ready for my second day in Brighton, which included two non-con missions I very much wanted to accomplish …