Used as I am to presentations, I normally adjust on the fly when I see a divergence between what I'm sending and what delegates are receiving. So Sunday evening puzzled me, until I realized it was the first time I've presented with spotlights in my face, so I couldn't see who I was talking to. Clearly I've learned unconsciously to calibrate via peripheral vision alone. So, an insight!

And blindingly obvious. In hindsight. (Visual metaphors, right?)

So a twitterstorm of protest, followed by a flood of non-electronic congratulations, all the way up to funniest-thing-I've-ever-seen-at-a-convention (from a distinguished foreign visitor). All reactions to my stand-up routine at the awards ceremony.

Clearly some folk missed things like: Dave Lally and I are both leprauchans from the same gene pool, and Meaney-Lally insults are a con tradition (but he wasn't there! No cheery "Oi, Meaney!" from the Lally); or that Justina Robson and I are old, old friends. Or that all four members of that women writers panel are good friends, and I was there to support them...

I don't know Lavie well, though, and I didn't catch up with him the next day. So massive apologies, Mr Tidhar, if you weren't amused. (And how sadly ironic if that turns out to be so, as loyal readers might appreciate.) We can disagree on what's funny or is a valid topic for humour, but at a deeper level our shared goals are inclusivity and diversity: my underlying presupposition is that every reaction was well meant.

And for the (literally) dozens of Monday-morning hugs and that-was-funny messages, and to the tweeters who said "Oops, sorry," multitudinous thanks.

Inhale. Exhale. And onwards, everyone in the same direction.

(And back to work.)