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The Con whiteboard now says "Paul Haines sends hugs and kisses to everyone" because I'm shy about racing up to everyone and giving them anything more than chocolate.

People keep giving me books. I have an Edmonds cookbook, a fabbo fanzine (Interstellar Ramjet Scoop) and books by some very much-loved authors. Do I read Charles de Lint next, or Tobias Buckell, or Cherie Priest? No, it will be Elizabeth Bear. I wonder if the number of wonderful things people give me is relational to the amount of chocolate I bring? Anyhow, it's fabulous and I am bouncy and happy.

My blogging workshop is.safely over and went well. It turned into an advanced blogger workshop, because everyone already had established blogs.

Liz Argall got applause for her workshop, she says. Do I believe her? She also wants to borrow my skull. She says it will add an element of horror to the proceedings tonight.

Right now I'm trying to play with everyone's mind and everyone is surprisingly resistant. I am doing a stint on the registration desk, I have chocolate. I have bad jokes. And everyone chats as if I belong here. Which I obviously do, at least till 3.30 pm.

The reggo desk is involved in laptop wars. Liz said "Call that a laptop?" snarled at G'eeek and hauled out a Mac.She's also cursing me because she didn't research me and all the other guests have CVs for her to use tonight. Maybe I should lend her G'eeek and make her feel bad about her Mac not being online. What a good idea?

As you might have guessed, this is quiet time. The traderoom is open and trickles of people are arriving. Their burning question is "Where's the food." Then they fade away. They will return in time for the next workshop or for the opening ceremony and then things will really start.

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I received a very funny look on the way up to my room to change, earlier tonight. I asked Stuart Herring (giver of funny look) if people were going to look at me like that for the whole of the convention. "Yep," he said cheerfully. I rather suspect I need to see some photos, very quickly. I rather suspect that I looked maybe a little undignified with cream all over my face.

I blame the Great Debate. I especially blame the third speaker for the negative. "Props," her opposition kept saying. "She's using props. It's cheating." The props were a pie pan and a can of cream. She used them to prove that we live in the real world and not in a dream. Specifically, she walked into the audience and demonstrated reality using my face. Poor Tim was sitting behind me and got stray splashes, but I got so much on me that my glasses were entirely covered and my clothing liberally bespattered. .

The remaining cream in can is to be auctioned off to charity tomorrow.

The opening ceremony came before my discovery that cream makes a very good moisturiser. It was a wonderful event. The Wiradjuri Echos - a local dance group - gave us a cleansing dance and then a set of other dance (including one in honour of the upcoming Grand Final - which is not the same game at all as last week's Grand Final. The rest was very funny - and I wish I had taken my usual notes, but this convention notes may be difficult and so I am forced to rely on my wayward memory. My wayward memory right now wants to remember what sleep feels like. I hope other people blog this evening's events, because they were just great.