Those Post-Bouchercon Blues

Well, I'm back. Not just back but well and truly back. Did I leave my heart in San Francisco? My liver? My wallet, even? Not really. Well, perhaps my wallet. And a bit of my liver.

I was really looking forward to this year's Bouchercon. San Francisco, a city I've never been to but always wanted to visit, renewing friendships with people who I think an awful lot of but only get to physically see once a year, meeting new people . . . how could it go wrong?

I took care of the 'always wanted to come here' bit before the con started by having a week's family holiday. Great. Ticked it all off now - Alcatraz, Yosemite, Haight, Chinatown (and we seem to be the only people who had an awful meal there), Pier 39, MOMA, cable cars, streetcars, etc. It was OK. Some bits I loved, some where a bit meh. What I did notice, however, was just how much of the city had seeped into my cultural DNA even before I'd been there through TV, books and movies. I even stopped and stared at a house on Haight that I knew from somewhere but couldn't place but was sure I'd seen before (I eventually worked it out - it was in 'Eye of the Cat', a 1969 horror film starring Michael Serrazin and Gayle Hunnicutt that I haven't seen since I was a teenager. Yes, since you ask, my head is full of this kind of inconsequential shit.) But come Wednesday night it was time to ditch the family and become Martyn Waites crime novelist.

First impressions of the Hyatt Regency - Logan's Run. Instead of attending a crime fiction convention I felt more like I was renewing on carousel. And I wasn't the only one thinking that. However, I was excited about getting to the bar but found it quite empty. Still, the people who were there more than made up for it. Christa Faust, one of my best buddies, was there. As were Vince and Rosemary Keenan, Russel McLean, Steven Blackmore . . . so not really no one. We had a good time. But then they closed the bar. At 11.30. And every night following. This would be the time that things are in full swing. People have returned from dinner and want to catch up with friends. Not here. When we asked repeatedly bout keeping the bar open, the hotel staff told us to 'go to North Beach. You might find something open there.' So they didn't want paying, they didn't want tips. they also closed it in the afternoons. They wouldn't budge on it. We now had nowhere to gather. Brilliant.

Thursday was better. Christa and I set out for our long standing Thursday BCon lunch date. We ended up at the Tadich Grill, San Francisco's oldest restaurant. With oldest waiters, too, I think. It was great. Wood panelling, waiters in white jackets and bow ties, the whole thing. But authentic. You wouldn't have been surprised to see Sam Spade sitting next to you. Then another treat - Kayo Books. This is a bookshop specialising in old pulp paperbacks. Or in other words, heaven for me. Christa and I acted as each other's enablers and went hog wild. I picked up a few Day Keene (you can never have enough Day Keene), Gil Brewer, Lionel White, Bruno Fischer, Jim Nisbett . . . You get the idea. Christa contented herself with the vintage sleaze and the pick of her haul, a novelisation of John Boorman's 'Zardoz'. There was so much more I wanted but, conscious of my case's weight restriction, I limited myself.

Thursday evening was dinner and drinks with the Harrogate girls. Sharon and Erica who run the Harrogate festival were over to talk it up. We found (through Christa's recommendation) the Tonga Rooms, a Polynesian tiki bar/restaurant with a lagoon, rain and a band on a raft that play Polynesian covers of the Doobie Brothers and Gloria Estefan. There are photos on the internet of Mark Billingham and I sharing cocktails together (this was shortly before we were mistaken for a couple) and we topped it off with a very drunken cable car ride back down California. Brilliant fun. But of course, we got back to find the bar had closed and there was no one there.

I had intended to go on the Dashiell Hammett walking tour on Friday but didn't make it. I was stopped by some readers who wanted to chat. That was more important. Then I tried to find some of the people I had come there to see. With limited success. Friday night was the Mulholland Books party which was fun, then on to Lee Child's Reacher Creature party. Then, with prospect of the bar closing once more, a trip upstairs to Czar of Noir Eddie Muller's suite birthday party.

Saturday was my work day. In at 8.30 for a rehearsal of the reading of Declan Hughes play, 'I Can't Get Started' about Dashiell Hammett and Lillian Hellman. I was reading Hammett. Interestingly, when we were both starting out, Declan and I wrote Hammett plays. Mine was awful and his won awards. Go figure. It was a long rehearsal. But I was looking forward to it. From there it was on to my panel. Mark Billingham, Karin Slaughter, Denise Mina, John Connolly and me talking about things we love and hate about crime fiction. The audience seemed to enjoy it. Then I got ready for Declan's play, the final piece of the day. It went down well. Me as Hammett, Alison Gaylin as Lillian, with other parts taken by Megan Abbott, Brett Battles, Christa Faust, Mark Billingham. And a creepy/hilarious turn by Declan himself. Clair Lamb did a sterling job of pulling it all together and I think we all acquitted ourselves very well. I want to do it properly now.

Then it was the disco at night. Not my kind of thing, but the kids enjoyed it. Mine I mean, not some generic, 'getting too old for this' phrase. It was worth going to witness the spectacle of Gary Phillips, Eddie Muller and Reed Farrell Coleman dancing to YMCA.

So that was that. I made some new friends there that I hope to keep in touch with but didn't see many of my old ones. I didn't seem to be part of my usual gang and that was quite sad. The trouble with BCon being in an exciting city with plenty to do is that people will go off and do it. I think it really works best in a dull city with little to do where we can pull up the wagons and develop a siege mentality in the hotel. Much more fun. And I know some of the people I was looking forward to seeing weren't there (especially one who was laid up on her back following a car accident. Hope you get well soon.) and some I couldn't find.

So that was Bouchercon for this year. Good fun as far as it went. Shit bar, could never find anyone. The rest was fine. But I'll be back next year.

And in the meantime I'd better get on with some work.