The discovery that one has been elected TAFF representative is a formidable affair in itself. I looked at the telegram, framed it and sat up half the night reading "Inside USA," Ernie Pyle's "Home Country" and "The Harp Stateside." By the morning I was ready to admit to myself that it was a hoax and that if anyone deserved such a trick playing on him, that anyone was Bennett. It turned out to be true though, and during the next few weeks I found out what fame does for one, seeing myself leering out of the Yorkshire Evening Post. The write up in the paper included the magic words, "I publish my own amateur magazine called Ploy, which contains articles about science fiction writing." I also discovered exactly what is meant by red tape. Unlike Walt Willis when he journeyed into the unknown, I didn't have to book my own passage. That Rock of Dependability of the Liverpool Group, Norman Shorrock, very kindly took this matter in hand. I myself had to get vaccinated against smallpox in order to obtain a visa. I went down to Thomas Cook's in Leeds and asked for an international vaccination form, but was told that I could have one only if I were booking the passage through Cook's. In Harrogate, I tried another travel agent and was immediately handed the required form, a courtesy that two years later was to gain for the firm the business of Eric Bentcliffe's TAFF ticket. A couple of visits to the doctor then saw everything fixed up. Obtaining the visa itself necessitated a trip over to the American Consulate in Manchester. I spent a pleasant half hour explaining to the Consul the intricacies of science fiction fandom and the Trans-Atlantic Fan Fund. I told him that although I probably wouldn't be in the U.S. for more than a month, I'd like to be on the safe side and I asked for a three month coverage. He gave me a visa good for four years and told me that his home was in Los Angeles and that he would probably be there at the same time as the SolaCon, so I invited him to drop in and see us, but he never did. After I left the Consulate I noticed that the street on which the building stands is called Southgate, which seemed an excellent omen. I met Sid Birchby and Harry Turner and we retired to the Shambles Inn -- aptly named --- to discuss the newly formed British Science Fiction Association.