December Meme: Best Camp Sparkle Moments.

[pensnest]

turps asked me for Best Camp Sparkle Moments.

For those of you who are wondering, Camp Sparkle is a mini-convention for popslashers. It was born out of the fact that nopseud and I met at a convention, and out of her 'Sparkly Weekends', which were so much fun we wanted to expand them. We began in, um, I think 2007 with a weekend in a rented house in Shropshire, and then progressed to week-long Camp every year since. The popslash element comes and goes, but it's our common ground and we love it still.

Despite the slightly surprising absence of alcohol from most of Camp, it is hard to remember the best moments because, really, there have been so many of them. But I will make the attempt—and I'd love to have other people's favourite moments in comments!

Online discussion of collecting the axe murderers from Stansted.

Dancing on the doorstep at Little Brampton, in utter delight at (a) having found it successfully and (b) the beauty of the view.

Watching iconis moving through the dining area in a pixy stix-fuelled blur.

At The Old Stables, a bizarre late-night discussion of felching and sundry other repulsive things, and nopseud wandering into the midst of it and saying nonchalantly, Oh, goats will eat anything.

The Camp Sparkle Snacks table. It began with the expectation that there might be a few, idunno, exotic packets of biscuits so that I did not have to cater for munchies as well as meals at our first Camp. I think it may have reached its highest peak at Ebenezer Chapel, where it filled the cot, but it's always a little bit terrifying and an awesome source of fine Finnish chocolate. Ahem.

Afternoon Tea at Chatsworth! I don't think we've had a *better* one, though all of them have been fun in their different ways. I actually understood what a sugar high was after nomming my way through the baby elephant's foot meringue, and the brownie, and... yeah, everything else. Actually, the whole day at Chatsworth was pretty fabulous.

Kringle! Omnomnom.

Camp Canon. Like, JC on a pink steamroller. Pecker. Emo ponies. Badger.

Watching a gigantic Barbie-pink limo reverse into view outside my sitting-room window, and announcing that that right there, that was our transport to Camp. And then seeing the astonishment on the faces of the Stansted contingent when we collected them.

The Feast at Portsmouth, where war broke out between the two tables. We'd raided a Pound Shop and decorated the tables with party poppers, streamers and miniature tribbles, and at some point they all became airborne.

Dancing in the communal space of The Ship, with nopseud, when we went on a pre-inspection.

Driving past the giant Dalek on the way to Camp, and the squeals of joy from behind me as the dalek's weapons swivelled to follow us.

Cards Against Humanity: when faced with the question, What is Justin Timberlake's defining characteristic? I played An Oedipus Complex. Pwned. Also, chalcopyrite's disturbing answer of planning to die balls-deep in a wild hog (I think), but hey, it was Brian. He's from Kentucky.

Camp is always full of laughs, and awesome things to eat, and visits to fascinating places, and weird and wonderful conversations with people who *understand* it when you say, It doesn't always snow in Europe, or a Lance shirt or... or, you know.

However. The unsurpassable memory has to be of msktrnanny reading The Lava Lamp Story at Beech Hill House, with iconis and a vodka bottle providing appropriate actions. I nearly died laughing. Damn, I wish we had video.

Best convention ever.