“Anybody who would attend a signing for a Kaldor City CD is barking,” I say. “Or possibly in Barking,” replies Alan Stevens. Alan is staying with me at the moment because of all his friends in the Southeast, I am the only one who both a) can cook and b) goes to bed before six in the morning. We are both leaning out my front window as nonchalantly as possible, waiting for the arrival of Matthew “Killer” Kilburn and his Amazing Vauxhall, who will convey us and five hundred CDs to the East London location in question, where the launch of the CD “Kaldor City: Occam’s Razor” is being held at the Tenth Planet shop.
 The minutes tick by and Alan gets more and more agitated.
“Where is he? He said he’d be leaving at eight, and it’s two hours to Barking.”
 “Give him time, he’s coming up from Woodstock,” I said absently.
 “How far away is Woodstock?”
 “About half an hour’s drive.”
 “So he’s got to drive for half an hour before he even gets to Oxford?!”
 “If the traffic’s good.”
 The Vauxhall arrives before Alan can reach volcanic proportions, and once we have scraped Alan off the floor and poured him into the back seat, we are off to Barking via Uxbridge. There we proceed to the house of Andy Hopkinson (who will be coming down later, but insists on his beauty sleep otherwise) and relieve him of the CDs which he is storing for Alan. At nine on a Saturday morning, it does not take us long to get to Barking via the ring road, nor does it take us long to find Tenth Planet, given the extensive queue of people out front. We are greeted by the staff, Paul “Cookie” Taylor, Paul Huzzey, Derek Hambley and Andrew Holmes.
 “Great!” exclaims Paul H, pouncing on the CDs. He grabs a double handful and distributes them amongst the people queueing outside, who have preordered their CDs, in some cases for weeks. The rest of us get busy removing cellophane from the remainder. I am terrible at this, having no fingernails to speak of, but Derek and Cookie, despite having even less in the way of fingernails than I do, strip the CDs with ease.
 Paul Darrow arrives, (causing Paul levels to go to critical), with Maureen Marrs and a large bag of photos. I am now a bit more used to dealing with celebs than I was during the taping, and consequently do not faint with excitement on the spot this time.
 “I’d like some coffee,” he says. Seconds later, Alan, Maureen, Matthew and I are all in a nearby coffee shop, where Paul is revealing a hitherto-unseen knowledge of modern history as he converses with Matthew, a researcher for the Dictionary of National Biography. Peter Miles turns up shortly, resplendent in a pale blue cardigan, along with Jim Smith, who has lately taken to dressing in a denim coat in the hope of being mistaken for a member of Oasis. After a last cup of coffee, we all head over to the shop, where Alistair Lock, his brother Robert (who, rather appropriately, voices several of the robots) and the multitalented Dave Bickerstaff have all arrived. Peter Tuddenham also appears, looking as if he undertakes difficult and dangerous journeys on the worst-run public transport system in the European Union every day. The staff, looking a little apprehensive at the number of guests, put out more tables.
 “One for you here, Alan,” says Alistair, gesturing to a chair.
 “Nobody’s going to want me signing their CDs,” protests Alan.
 “Seriously, people will want it signed by the author,” says Derek.
 “I’ll do it, then!” exclaims Jim, taking the seat. Paul H looks a bit pale and sends off for another table. Alan cannot stand by and let this happen, and so takes his place, flourishing a complete set of pens which he happens to have with him, just in case.
 Before the crowds come, I get the assembled cast to sign my CD. I currently own very little that has not been signed by some combination of Paul Darrow, Peter Miles, Peter Tuddenham, Brian Croucher and Chris Boucher, and would like to make it even less. After this, I have a minute or two to slip behind the signing table (what, me stand out in the shop and get mistaken for a customer? Not likely) before the hordes descend.
 There then follows probably one of the more mad three hours of my life. The staff run the system like a well-oiled machine, with a burly bouncer on the door ensuring that no more than five people are in the shop at a time, and keeping an eye on the queue. Once the people have been let in, though, anything can happen. Photographs are snapped, CDs are signed along with SF magazines, photographs, video covers and copies of Avon: A Terrible Aspect. Why they want Peter Miles to sign this last item, I’ll never know. Two of my friends, Robert and April, turn up to support the endeavour and buy a CD, which is very generous of them, as they watch very little recent television, let alone that of the 1970s.
 “The cover looks great,” says April.
 “So what exactly is Blake’s 7, anyway?” asks Robert.
 “I think I recognise that gentleman there,” says April, gesturing at Paul Darrow.
“Wasn’t he on the Frankenstein segment of SF:UK?”
 “Naw, he’s the one who was on Doctor Who,” says Robert.
 Andy turns up with Patricia Merrick and the head of Davros.
 “You don’t expect that to sign CDs, surely,” I say.
 “No, but we thought it might keep Peter Miles company.”
 Sure enough, Peter Miles is shortly to be seen posing with the head, grinning and shifting it around to view its audience. Jim grits his teeth at the realisation that he is being upstaged by three pounds of casting resin.
 Andy has brought photographs from the recording of the CD for the cast to sign. He has also brought cigarettes, coffee and a bacon sandwich. He disappears into the back room to trim the photographs, shortly to be followed by several people, casually dropping by in search of a snack, a smoke or a drink.
 “It’s so easy to get good help these days,” says Andy, trading a piece of sandwich for help with the trimmer.
 Halfway through, a brief lunch break is held; those who smoke (including Paul, Maureen and Patricia) join the trimming crew in back for a quick cigarette. Those who don’t (including me) go out front for a quick stretch of legs, to discover Jim and Alan in danger from a precarious stack of Star Trek videos.
 “How ignominious; crushed to death by episodes of Voyager,” comments Dave.
 With the signing into its second session, Andy and Matthew having vanished on various errands and no need for a trimmer-cum-general help about the place, I go off to visit with Robert and April for a while; having been brought up to speed on Blake’s 7, they are now eager to borrow some videotapes. I return to find the crew still signing away in high spirits, with Paul Darrow never failing to come up with a clever anecdote for his fans, Dave Bickerstaff recruiting Peter Miles for an upcoming convention, and Patricia admiring Andy’s photos of Peter Tuddenham with Orac. Alistair Lock seems a bit surprised that so many people want him to sign things, but rises to the occasion.
 At four o’clock, the signing is ended, having run considerably later than anticipated due to the demand for signed CDs. Jim meets some friends and wanders off for a chat; Alan talks business with Andy and Alistair; Matthew Kilburn turns up and begins making anxious noises about the car. The actors are all engaged briefly by the shop to sign various remaining items of merchandise, pose for photos and in one or two cases, to record sound-clips for Tenth Planet’s website (if you’re lucky, you might be able to catch them on www.tenthplanet.co.uk). That having been done, Paul Darrow, Maureen, Jim and Dave  all leave on various errands, and the rest of us repair down the pub for a swift half. The half having been drunk, Alan and I load up Matthew’s car and return to the land of the Dreaming Spires, secure in the knowledge of a job well done.

 “Anybody who would attend a signing for a Kaldor City CD is barking,” I say, but as we are in Sheffield, the joke falls completely flat. I have just been picked up at the train station by Ian Wainwright, a family friend with whom I am staying this weekend for the Kaldor City in Sheffield event, sponsored by local SF-shop Galaxy 4. As well as a signing, this will include interview with Paul Darrow and Brian Croucher by Alan. Plus a prop and costume display.
 My brief idyll is shattered by the ringing of the mobile; Alan, having been alerted to my presence in Sheffield by some telepathic sense or other, wants me to come down to the university and help him and Andy set up for the event the next day. As I am about six miles away at this point, he can do nothing but seethe impotently until after I have left off my bags, had dinner and chatted a bit with Ian and family.
 Eventually, I make my way down to Sheffield Hallam University (having had explained to me several times the difference between Sheffield and Sheffield Hallam by the Wainwrights) to be picked up by two gentlemen with a carload of costumes. Fortunately, these are Alan and Andy. We take the car over to the university and locate the room in which the event is being held. It is small, cramped and underground. The students must loathe it. Andy has us unload various bits of miscellaneous junk, including several long planks, a piece of cloth with some fairy lights attached to it, several large sheets of black felt, a box of props and four spotlights. As we extract these from the lift, an alarm begins to sound.
 “Cover me, I think I can get us out of here,” says Alan, taking a firm hold on a Scorpio gun and looking decisive.
 No policemen having in fact shown up to ask us what we are doing with a load of futuristic-looking weaponry in a university building at one AM, we decide to continue working.
 Back at the room, the alarm ceases. “Must’ve been an accident,” says Alan. Andy pulls out a bag of vicious-looking ironmongery and proceeds to vandalise the room’s fittings.
 “You’re sure you can get it back the way it was afterwards?” I say.
 “Oh yes,” says Andy, removing the slide projection screen.
 “Let’s go get the costumes in,” says Alan. We do, and as we are heaving the last stack of frocks into the lift, an alarm starts to sound again.
 “It’s an air raid!” says Alan. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
 “May I remind you that the room is about two floors underground,” I say, “and also that Sheffield is not likely to be any place Osama bin Laden has even heard of, much less want to bomb.”
 “Have you never seen Threads?” says Alan.
 The alarms cease again as we return to the room.
 “Reckon it’s us?” I say.
 “Got the lights working now,” says Andy. He pulls the switch, and at once the alarms go again.
 “Right, that’s it. I’m telling security,” says Alan, charging off. He collides with a man in protective earmuffs.
 “Oh, hullo, didn’t realise there was anyone in here. Just testing the alarms, don’t worry.”
 “For how long?”
 “Until about three in the morning. Don’t mind us...”

 The next day I leave plenty of time to get to Sheffield Hallam, with the result that I am there before Alan and Andy. I make small talk with some other early arrivals, as well as Ben and Andy Swinden of Galaxy 4, before Maureen arrives. She is followed about half an hour later by the lads, along with Gary Holland, a car full of display mannequins and several more costumes. Guess what we have to do with these. Jim Smith breezes in just as we’re setting up the last mannequin.
 “Anything you need signed?” he says hopefully, whipping out his marking pen. We ask him to put it away and go out to find the actors.
 Paul Darrow arrives, looking immaculate in a  splendid grey suit which makes him look like someone shortlisted for the part of John Steed in The Avengers. Several of the event-goers faint with excitement on the spot.
 Brian Croucher turns up, wearing a bomber jacket, a short beard and an earring, and looking like someone shortlisted for the role of Vince in Pulp Fiction. Several security guards faint with terror on the spot.
 The staff of Galaxy Four promptly whisk the pair of them upstairs to the hospitality suite before they can do any more damage. Alan and Jim mysteriously disappear a second later, leaving the rest of us to set up Andy’s prop collection. Having done this, I go in search of Alan and Jim, to find them drinking tall skinny lattes on the terrace with the talent.
    “We’ve got to rest up for the signing,” explains Jim, brushing a crumb off the ubiquitous denim coat.
   Brian has just finished a stint with The Bill, and we talk about the effect of the September 11th tragedy on TV drama; film schedules changed, scripts rewritten and increased news coverage. Paul, signing a few cassette covers, with Maureen’s help, is in a more cheerful mood, and talks about films of the 1950s and the more ridiculously macho pseudonyms of the celebrities at the time. He and Brian then start to reminisce about Robert Mitchum and Alan Ladd. After a short while, Galaxy 4 send an emissary up to let us know that the natives are beginning to get restless down in the auditorium.
 “Let’s go get good seats, so we can heckle Alan,” whispers Jim to me. This sounds like a great idea, so we go down and blandly cadge two of the seats marked “Reserved.” All our hard work has paid off, and the room has been transformed into a softly-lit starscape, with elegant silk-and-leather costumes placed along the sides to admire. Andy hovers anxiously about the scene, concerned lest the material should be damaged.
 After about fifteen minutes, Alan and the stars turn up. The full text of the interview is available at www.kaldorcity.com/g4interview.html, so suffice it to say that the three of them immediately start having a splendid time, with jokes and reminiscences flying, innuendo cropping up all over, and the interview running almost forty-five minutes over time without anyone noticing— least of all the audience, who could quite visibly have listened to them all day.
 Following the interview, there is a photocall in front of Andy’s backdrop and costumes, before a quick lunch back in the hospitality area. Galaxy 4 have remembered to provide smoked salmon sandwiches for Paul— far more than are needed, in fact, so he shares them with the other salmon fiends present. Then the writers and actors go downstairs to greet their fans and sign CDs.
 This time, there is less for me to do, there being more space and fewer photographs than in Barking. Nonetheless, I take up a position near Alan, so that if anybody needs me to go for anything, they don’t have to search. As before, the attendees all line up eagerly with their CDs, photographs and books; Andy spots someone with a highly-prized copy of Blake’s 7: The Inside Story and draws them aside for a look. Several people have brought copies of Alan’s earlier not-for-profit Blake’s 7 audiotapes, and bombard him with questions about the writing and production of the stories.
 After getting their merchandise signed, the attendees congregate in the general area of the signing or wander around; one or two programming types have questions about the Kaldor City website and are sent in my direction, so I hold forth for a while on the relative merits of Javascript and CSS, the problems of overusing imagemaps, and the programming of multimedia CD-ROMS, delighted that there is, for once, something that I can talk about. Other attendees have wandered over to the prop display for a look; Andy stations himself behind it and is soon the centre of attention of a rapt audience as he explains how his replica props were made and the histories of his various real props. Galaxy 4's replica Dalek is also getting quite a bit of attention, and at one point is operated, to the delight of the crowd.
 Eventually, however, the queue thins out, and people engage in a last bit of shopping at the Galaxy 4 merchandise table or a last look at Andy’s props before leaving. The rest of us take a brief break in the hospitality area before the takedown begins. Paul and Brian pose for publicity photos; taking a leaf from Tenth Planet’s book, I persuade both to speak a few words into the microphone of my Psion, to be used as audio clips on the Kaldor City website (you can still catch Paul’s at www.kaldorcity.com; Brian’s will be up at the beginning of next year).
 Brian leaves early, eager to get back home to his wife and children, as does Jim, who has no wife and children but does have a day job. Paul, however, is staying locally with relatives, and suggests that we continue the conversation in a nearby cafe. Over coffee, we all talk about Clint Eastwood and American gangster films; Paul entertains us with stories about visiting the late Terry Nation in Los Angeles. Eventually, however, he decides that he should be getting along, and so he leaves, after a final round of handshaking.
 Those of us who remain, that is, Alan, Andy, Maureen, Gary and myself, set ourselves to the task of putting away the props, lights and costumes, and returning the room to its former condition, albeit somewhat neater. Eventually, everything is put away in Andy and Gary’s cars, and Alan and I head back to the Wainwrights’ for a well-deserved pizza and rest, again secure in the knowledge of a job well done.