I walked through the crowds with my feet about four inches off the ground, or at least they felt like it, that morning. In- side the BOAC building, waiting for me, were Ella Parker and Mike Moorcock. They said they'd turned up to make sure I did start off in the right direction. Ella gave me a gift of some flashlight bulbs, to go with the camera Ethel Lindsay had loaned me. Mike handed me a copy of the latest issue of New Worlds Science Fiction. I had an illustration in it. Mike commiserated with me in typical Moorcock Fashion over the fact that I hadn't yet been paid for the illustration by saying what was mere money to the thrill of seeing my name in print in his fine science fiction magazine. Ted Forsyth arrived. He'd been away up in Scotland on holiday but came back a day early, also doubting my ability to head in the right direct- ion without being pointed or shoved. Two more London Club Stalwarts turned up, Jimmy Groves and Peter Mabey. After seeing to my ticket and case we all went up to the coffee lounge and in typical British fashion all had a cup of tea. At 11.45 am we trooped downstairs to the coach and I sat inside it feeling that it was all wrong me being on the coach and not standing outside with the rest of the fans waiting to wave goodbye to someone else. Ella knew I was thinking this and the look in her eyes was telling me that it was real. She and the others waved as the coach pulled away and headed for London Air- port where my magic carpet in the shape of a Boeing 707 was waiting By one o'clock we were airborne and heading out over the green fields of southern England towards the coast. I began to believe it really was all happening to me.