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.