Once More With Footnotes

been a much more s ensibly timed flight, which got cancelled. This isn't life in the fast lane, it's life in the oncoming traffic.
     
                  Crash out for an hour or so at hotel. Today we're going to try four signing sessions with bits of media in between, just so no shop feels hard done by. This means starting signing at a couple of shops a few doors from one another, splitting about two hours of queue between them. Then down to some mall for sushi fast food, which Eckians have really taken to. That's something you don't see in Eng l and — ladies who look like your great-grandmother scarfing California roll and sashimi off a fork.
     
                  Then round the corner to a Small Specialist Bookstore, which is another one that makes an effort. They got someone to ride his Harley into the shop on the So ul Music tour, and for the Feet of Clay one they built a 180kg golem in the shop. This guy knows his stuff — he's provided a bucket of ice cubes to combat wrist-ache, too
     
                  6:00 p.m.: Off to a talk organised by one of the morning's shops, which has managed t o browbeat enough people to fit a large hall. And more signing. A few MSS dumpers, but one guy has brought in a flask of Wow-wow Sauce, made to the recipe in The Discworld Companion.
     
                  And then off with the shop manager to a meat-pie floater wagon to sampl e this most famous local delicacy. Forgoing, for reasons of economy, the Gourmet Pie Floater (containing named meat) at $3.60, I opted for the basic variety at $3.30.
     
                  It was piquant. No worries.
     
    -
     
    Day 13
     
                  Long flight to Sand City. Got a suite in the h otel, wow. But it's sort of odd. There's this huge room but the furniture is arranged as if it's a small room, so there's the sofa and chairs and table and stuff and then an acre of carpet all around.
     
                  Off to a signing in a mall. People say, hey, you must see a lot of the world on your travels, but what you mainly see is malls. This is a good mall.
     
                  The shop reported a huge crowd when we were on the way, although it was easily dealt with in under 45 minutes, which just goes to show.
     
                  Back to the hotel fo r an interview. Journo and I take a taxi across the carpet to the distant sofa.
     
                  6:30 p.m.: Talk/signing.
     
                  One of the most enjoyable events of this tour. A full house — about 250 people — and I was fairly relaxed so it felt as if it was going well, and it se emed that everyone had a book/books to be signed.
     
                  On the way home, the captain of the 747 came over the speaker and said, "Good evening, I am your captain, Roger Rogers," and in a cabin full of sweaty business types getting pie-eyed on free booze I was t he only one who noticed ...
     

This was done in 1992 for the After the King anthology, edited by Martin H. Green berg.
     
    The anthology was in honor of J.R.R. Tolkien rather than any attempt to trespass in Middle Earth, but it seemed to me that there was a mo od I could aim for. Things change, things pass. You fight a war to change the world, and it changes into a world with no place in it for you, the fighter. Those who fight for the bright future are not always, by nature, well-fitted to live in it. Sawmills oust the spiders from the dark wood, the endless plains are fenced ...
     
     
     
     
     
T roll B ridge
     
                  The wind blew off the mountains, filling the air with fine ice crystals.
     
                  It was too cold to snow. In weather like this wolves came down into villages, trees in the heart of the forest exploded when they froze.
     
                  In weather like this right-thinking people were indoors, in front of the fire, telling stories about heroes.
     
                  It was an old horse. It was an old rider. The horse looked like a shrink-wrapped toast rack; the man looked as though the only reason he wasn't falling off was because he couldn't muster the energy. Despite the bitterly cold wind, he was wearing nothing but a tiny leather kilt and a dirty bandage on one knee.
     
                  He took the soggy remnant of a cigar ette out of his mouth and stubbed it out on his