New Rule (Cranfield, Birmingham)

New rule: check your bags.

For years I've been wheeling a carry-on secure in the knowledge I can get off the plane straight away and walk out of the airport. I avoid paying the fee of [whatever it may be]. Score! So clever am I!

This was a good rule. Then everyone started following it. This trip to the UK started with a mad scramble to get everyone's bags in the overhead. I genuinely thought someone might die, probably one of the flight attendants from an aneurism. We left a few minutes behind schedule; by the grace of God it wasn't much more than half an hour. Opening the containers up again was like Russian roulette with carry-ons. That's before you consider that for a lot of folks it wasn't carry-ons; it was duty free, it was duffle bags, it was this, it was that, but it wasn't the standard size bag. Which makes a huge difference when the overheads can only take two or three standard size.

No, no. Never again. I'm going to get a larger bag (because why not) and whenever I fly long haul, that bag gets checked. I don't care if the airline charges me. It is worth the cost to avoid the pain. Short haul is different. If I'm only going to be out of country for a few days, it makes sense to use a smaller bag. But long haul, with a larger bag, I can carry more books. Which are duty free. Alleluia!

Now, the conventions. 

Chaosium UK was an eye-opener. I'd forgotten how desolate UK villages can be; there's nothing in Cranfield beyond a couple pubs, a chippie, a Chinese, and one decent restaurant. Allegedly decent. I never saw it because it wasn't in walking distance and Cranfield's Uber drivers are double-charging weasels.  

I tell you, these places are deserts where you park your 2.4 kids until they're old enough to feck off to uni. I cannot imagine living there. You'd start to see the walls move in and out after a while. Which is very odd, for a university village. I can only think the students make their own fun. Or get the hell out to Milton Keynes as soon as possible, but that would involve functional public transport or a willingness to get robbed blind by the aforementioned Uber weasels.

Cranfield School of Management was great and the staff did their best, though I did feel as if I'd gone back in time and was a student again. At least this time the bar had a decent selection of non-alcoholic beer! Food was British Stodge, and while I do not mind a bit of Stodge I can't imagine living on the bloody stuff. You'd need a cast iron stomach and the epicurean incuriousness of a billy goat.

Another thing I had forgotten: UK cons are mostly about gaming. I've become used to the North American version, where there's a much larger vendor presence, film, guests, panels, the whole schmeer. As a result I didn't sign up for anything like as much gaming as I could have, though I did enjoy dipping into a Rivers of London game, Route 66, and was able to sit in on the start of a Jimmy's Last Dance session. Plus, Miskatonic Playhouse! Ahh, fun times. I did spend money. One of these days I should also claim the .pdf version of some of those games I bought. I tell you, it's easy to get sidetracked in a dozen different directions if you're not careful.

Then there was the Birmingham Expo. 

Yes, there is a vendor presence at the Expo. However did you guess?

One thing Birmingham does not know how to deal with: heat. It was baking in there. Thank God it was high ceilings at the Expo centre for the heat to bleed out or I think there would have been a couple heatstroke cases.

I went to one panel - Off With Your Head, a ton of fun, my allegiance remains with King Non-Copyright Mouse - in something called Piazza Five, which is a tiny brick oven at the heart of the Expo centre. I think I caught a breath of fresh air once, briefly, at the start of the show, when the aircon wrote its will and collapsed. I was in the front row, because I like to be in the splash zone. If someone on stage spontaneously combusted and burnt to ashes on the spot, I would not have been surprised. Credit to Sam See, the Vizier and Master of Ceremonies. He did not wilt. Which must have been a temptation.

For the love of God, put in more water stations at least, inside the halls. Better yet functional HVAC, but water stations, por favor. 

Books!

Where did I go? Foyles, of course. Rare Books & Curios, Greenwich Market. Henry Pordes on Charing Cross, The Bookshop on the Heath (an old favorite), Criminally Good Books in York. Plus a side trip to the bookstalls outside Southbank BFI.

What did I get?

Yellow Kid Weil: the autobiography of America's Master Swindler.  I knew I had to have this the second I saw it. Read it before two days passed. This is one of those must-haves for anyone who delights in crime, the Roaring Twenties, or both.

Coming Up For Air, George Orwell. I haven't cracked this one yet but I'm looking forward to it. A nostalgia tour of the world before the Great War. 1960s paperback reprint of the 1939 original.

Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi, edited and rewritten by Charles Dickens. I love the stage and I admire Dickens' writing style. I haven't finished this one yet but am working on it. My God, Grimaldi had a punishing father. 

Death In Captivity. Michael Gilbert. Chewed this down within a day. A prisoner is found dead inside a second world war internment camp. Why was he killed? Who's responsible?

Crook O'Lune, E.C.R. Lorac. A remote farmhouse is set ablaze and a woman dies of smoke inhalation. Why do this? Is it to distract attention from sheep smuggling or is there something more sinister at root?

Impact of Evidence, Carol Carnac A car wreck in the Welsh Borders kills a retired doctor, and a second body is found. Who's the extra dead man? Why was he in the doctor's car?

Both these last are technically cozy crime, but they're as far from cozy as it is possible to get. Ate these within 24 hours of purchase.

Deadly Dolls: Midnight Tales of Uncanny Playthings, short story collection. Because how could I resist? Bought on the Saturday, finished same day. Highly recommended to horror fans, there are some interesting pieces here you won't see elsewhere.

Farmer Giles of Ham, J.R.R. Tolkien. See, this is why you go to places like the BFI bookstalls. Lovely little 1979 imprint of the 1949 original. I've read this before. it was a treat to read it again.

The Chinese Nail Murders and The Phantom of the Temple, both Robert Van Gulik, both BFI bookstalls. Lovely 1960s Panther paperbacks. I've a lot of time for Van Gulik. He tackles his subject with aplomb. I look forward to reading these.

She Walks At Night, Seiko Yokomizo. Pretty sure I picked this up at Foyles the first day I was there. Brilliant stuff, with an ending that subverts all that has come before.

Suspicion and Inspector Imanishi Investigates, both Seicho Matsumoto, bought at Heathrow Airport. Because all the other books were in my case and that had been checked in. Finished Suspicion as I was waiting to board the plane.  

Film! Yes, I did buy some blu-ray, mostly from the BFI but also from Fopp. Which, you ask?

Well!

Night of the Comet

Black Lagoon

Gremlins

Gremlins 2

 

BFI Classic Ghost Stories

As for the RPG stuff, that can wait another week.

See you soon!

UK Travel & Other Stuff (Bookhounds)

A heads-up for the moment, but if you're planning on attending the UK Chaosium Con in May 2026 you may see me there, in one of them there speaking roles. Keris McDonald and I will host a panel at the Expo, all about Yanks and their peculiar ways in the Gaslight era. Come one, come all!

I will also be at the Birmingham Expo but I shan't be hosting any panels there. Popping in on the Friday to see the sights and buy stuff. Not a lot of stuff, my suitcase won't stand it. But, y'know, stuff ... 

There's been some writing gigs as well, and you may see my name attached to a project I hadn't thought was on the bingo card in 2026. However, more on that later once it becomes more of a thing.  

This does mean I shall be off island and away from keyboard in May, from about the 17th to the end of the month, so if you're wondering why I shan't be posting over that period, now you know. 

Speaking of, I do have a Bluesky account if any of you want to pop over and say hi. 

***

I've never been to Milton Keynes. 

It's kinda the iconic UK destination. Not iconic in the sense everyone wants to go. But it's the sort of place everyone thinks of as quintessentially UK, in much the same way that Main Street USA is quintessentially American. It has that 'green belt but with houses in it' vibe that many English towns strive for. Or at least, it's supposed to have it; having never been, I can't say for sure. 

I mention this because I've got to go through Milton Keynes to get to Cranfield, where the Expo's held. I'm curious to see what the place is actually like. 

Of course, in period there's no such thing as Milton Keynes, at least not the modern version which was founded in the 1960s. The older version is a gaggle of villages, hamlets and stately homes a short(ish) train ride outside of London proper. 

It's the sort of place you might find many a 'maudlin and monstrous pile,' a stately home with little of the stately left. The gothic-tudor-baroque mess put together at some point in the 1800s by someone with more money than sense, now rotting thanks to death duties and other unfortunate accidents. Bletchley Park of sainted memory was one such.

With that in mind:

A Visit to the Country

One of the shop's more reliable scouts has come back from a trip to the countryside. According to the scout there's a blessed pile moldering up near Milton Keynes, put together by some nabob back in 1820-somthing-or-other and left to rot after the grandson caught a packet at the Somme. Or perhaps it was the great grandson, but whichever it may have been there's none of the family left now and the place is in the hands of the trustees. Apparently there's some legal kerfuffle and the relatives, all of whom live in the States or the Colonies, are fighting it out among themselves. 

Meanwhile here's the pile, out in the country miles from anywhere, looked after by some doddering old retainer. There's meant to be a fantastic library, at least as far as the old catalogues can say. The paterfamilias (or perhaps it was the pater's pater) was rather keen on tales of folklore and witchcraft and built up a significant collection before popping his clogs the day before Edward VII's coronation. Dicky heart, they say. 

Do the Hounds fancy a visit to Milton Keynes?

Option One: Trust But Verify. Yes, the pile exists, and yes, it is looked after by a doddering retainer. Lonely spot out in the middle of nowhere, check. Valuable library, check. Is it ripe for the plucking? Well, theoretically ... if someone can deal with the ghost that's haunting it. The deceased is meant to be a witchfinder of the olden days bound to a collection of trial documents, but that could be a load of old piffle. Whether the spectre is or is not a witchfinder, there's something in that library.

Option Two: It's More of a Cult. The dead collector was an important member of the Witch-Cult, and surviving members of that same cult keep an eye on the place in their memory. Occasionally the woods near the house are used for sacrifices, and the doddering retainer is far less doddery than they seem. There are wards in place to keep the library secure. 

Option Three: Can't Get The Staff. The retainer has had plenty of time to study the texts in the library. They fancy themselves a bit of a Faustus and are working up the courage to attempt a summoning. Up till now they haven't felt the urgency. There's always tomorrow. But if the Hounds start poking around the place the retainer will realize that tomorrow's come earlier than expected, and will start the ritual they've been planning all this while. The consequences will be spectacular.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!