Getting back to the hotel: we were met at the door by Ken's charming wife, Pamela, and Mrs. Newman's charming son, David. Pamela had a broom in her hand, and Dave a glass of beer. Thinking this over, I can't devise a good reason for Pam to be helping to clean up the hotel, although strange things occur in English hotels. Nor can I think of a good reason for Newman to have a glass of beer in his hand, God-fearing prohibitionist that he is. Newman, incidentally; made quite a hit with the American delegation in that he assumed the job of public relations and entertained the group from Tuesday until the opening of the convention on Friday evening. One interesting bit of confusion developed upon our arrival at the King's Court Hotel. Oswald Train, owner of one of the most extensive science fiction collections extant, was returning to his native England after an absence of about thirty years. His uncle was to meet him, and, unfortunately, they misconstrued each other's directions. At any rate, the old gentleman wound up at the hotel immediately after Ossie took off for the airport office. To say the old boy was quite shaken up would be puttlng it mildly. Someone handed the gentleman a bottle of beer and said that Ossie would certainly turn up in a short while. Three hours later the old boy could be seen finishing his fifth bottle of beer. I suppose they eventually managed to meet up with each other. There was also some hotel reservation confusion. It seems that some of those who had reserved rooms had been placedacross the street in another hotel, which did not appear to be as lavish as the King's Court. One of these was Will Jenkins, President of the Philadelphia Science Fiction Society. As he walked out of the King's Court, he was heard singing, "I'm just wild about Bobbie". Meanwhile, back at the bar... Yes, in short order I had discovered that the bar was on the second floor and had wended my way up to partake of a glass of the warm beer I had heard so much about. However, much to my surprise - and elation - the bartender had thought to ice up several bottles, and my first venture into warm beer consumption didn't occur until some time later. The first three people I talked to at the bar were Pete Taylor, John Brunner and Reiner Eisfeld. Pete, a curly-haired lad of about 21, told me he had been away from fandom for some time, but was really coming back now. Fake-fan that I am, I recognized John Brunner as the professional writer of the same name. John is a most impeccable individual, and is the personification of the precise, Oxford-educated Englishman as he is known in America. John, it might be mentioned, is only 23 now, although he made his first sales to ASTOUNDING six years ago. Reiner Eisfeld is a German fan, who speaks the most precise English, and who gave an excellent speech at the banquet. Eventually, Ken Bulmer came over and informed me that we were going to dinner. The party consisted of Ken, Pamela, Ted Carnell, Sandy Sanderson, Belle & Frank Dietz, Forry Ackerman, and several others. Ken, gracious host that he is, insisted on carrying my suitcase, which must have weighed more than fifty pounds. (At this point it must be mentioned that Ken had written me soon after I was announced TAFF winner, requesting me to be his guest while in London. This more-than-kind offer was gratefully accepted. As it turned out, this was quite convenient. Ken, being a professional writer, doesn't have to work, and was able to spend the next few days showing me about.) Following the dinner, which included some scintillating conversation, the group split up, with Ken, Pamela, Sandy and me taking the underground which was headed in the general direction of 204 Wellmeadow Road, Catford. This, my first adventure with the London subway system, is somewhat of a blur--and I was sober too! It seemed that we were constantly running up and down stairways, going down in elevators, and just missing the trains we were running after. Anyway, as I recall, we took several subways, and then a plain old railway train. Following this, a nice healthy walk to the Bulmer residence - with Ken and me taking turns on my heavily-laden suitcase. That evening I noticed that Ken was quite a fast walker - and a real runner when he heard the sound of an approaching subway train. Little did I realize then the amount of fast walking and