Enlightenment 98 - June/July 2000

The Convention of Doom - Aaron Prokop

     Recently I had the distinct pleasure of attending what was probably
the sci-fi convention of the, uh, century, Who Party 4097-B.  I was
particularly pleased to be able to attend this event as I had missed out
on Who-Cruise 99's usual jaunt around the Bermuda Triangle on the Love
Boat.  I had received the annual flyer advertising the cruise, then
contemplated the prospect of spending seven days stuck out at sea with
John Nathan-Turner and Gary Downie, sharing a cabin with three other
guys for just $850 each, plus the air fare to and from Miami, and
decided home is where the heart is.
     Elisabeth Sladen had to cancel out at the last moment, but this was
just as well, as the restraining order placed on me some time ago would
have made it difficult for me to simultaneously attend the convention
and still remain ast least fifty yards away from her at all times.
Happily, her husband, Brian Miller was on hand to announce he was
finally bowing to pressure after twenty-five years and would be
releasing his memoirs, Wow! I Can't Believe I'm Married to Elisabeth
Sladen.  A lawer for Ms. Sladen was also on hand to state with some
discomfort that his client was being forced by the situation to take
action to prevent the book's publication, noting that she had first
become suspicious when she saw her husband talking to Andrew Morton.
     As I attempted to gain entry at the door (I had tried the window
but it was too high off the ground), I learned to my indignation that
the organizers were still not prepared to forget the unfortunate
incident at last year's convention.  I resorted to subterfuge.  I
disguised myself as Nicola Bryant and successfully gained entrance to
the convention, after fooling the bouncers with a particularly spirited
rendition of Maurice Chevalier's "When a Nightingale Sings Like You".
     My third port of call was the punchbowl.  Unfortunately, someone,
probably Carole Ann Ford, spiked it and after just one swig of prune
Kool-Aid, I found myself experiencing a strange sense of well being,
punctuated by the astounding sight of clouds of talking spiders, all of
them liberals, descending on the building and arguing politics.  After
that, I was assualted by a spinning series of images consisting of Tom
Baker standing at a podium screaming passages from Dombey and Son at the
top of his lungs; Nicholas Courtney being struck flashbulb blind and
Bonnie Langford just being struck.
     Before things could deteriorate into the biggest free-for-all this
side of Australia, a pair of powerful hands grabbed me in a grip of
steel, and before I could resist, Deborah Watling had twisted my arms
and pinned them behind my back (instead of hers, sadly).  She proceeded
to drag me, kicking and screaming (why she was kicking and screaming, I
have no idea) from the hall to a secret underground installation.  There
I was brutally tortured, forcibly injected with a series of mind-bending
compounds and mercilessly interrogated by Tom Baker, who kept asking "Is
it safe" in a bogus German accent that wouldn't have flown on Hogan's
Heroes, and inexplicably demanding to know the location of the nude
photos.  I am proud to say I did not break, primarily because I had to
idea what he was talking about. [The narrative breaks off into a set of
incoherent scences featuring Deborah Watling in jackboots, further
torture and a convalescence spent watching New Zoo Revue reruns and then
our hero determines to return to the next Who Party, 4097-C... -Editor]

     Special guest star Sylvester McCoy was on the stage doing his
trademark routine of stuffing a lie ferret down his trousers and
hammering a six-inch nail up his own nose, actions which could explain
why he failed in his early career as an insurance salesman.  Events took
a mind-numbing turn for the worse as things suddenly went horribly
wrong, and Mc McCoy was whisked away by ambulance after the bloody chaos
that followed.  Many in the growd were highly upset and believed to have
suffered long-term psychological damage as a result, especially the
ferret.
     Aside from that mishap, things proceeded smoothly, barring the
disruptive intrusion of that realling belligerent guy who signed the
guest register "Tony Clifton".  There was an entertaining slide show,
featuring 8,063 slides documenting Derrick Sherwin's tenure as producer
after which everyone was invited upstairs to share a hot tub with Colin
Baker.  The responce was minimal.
     I did get the distinct pleasure of seeing Janet Fielding's stage
appearance that day.  As the presenter, who looked suspiciously like the
janitor I had seen in the corridor outside eariler, introduced her, she
came up to him and decked him with a right cross.  He recovered his
composure, and his feet, with admirable speed and gamely overcoming the
difficulty of speaking with blood leaking from the corners of his mouth,
managed to finish.  Ms Fielding proceeded to wow the crowd with a long
speech declaring that the series is old and outdated and that we should
all get out and do better things with our lives.  Afterward, I stood in
line and received an autographed photo of the star, who sold it to me
for just 40 pounds.  The picture was one of her on the show, in her
 "Tegan" character.
     The adventure continues.

There is no listing for Aaron Prokop in the Internet Movie Database,
which is odd as we're fairly sure he was Kenneth Williams' stand-in for
at least 5 of the "Carry On" Films...