SAN FRANCISCO It seemed like a good idea at the time. Let's face it, after AUSSIECON almost anything seemed like a good idea. When Valma Brown suggested that I run for DUFF I was suitably flattered and accepted nomination unhesitatingly. With the support of the Magic Puddin' people I even went so far as to put out the first issue of THE HAG AND THE HUNGRY GOBLIN (then unashamedly a Duffzine), but I naturally didn't give the trip much thought until I won. By March 1976 I realised that I was scared of going overseas on my own, but by then it was too late. I wanted to concentrate on my new job, I wanted to get married, I wanted to do anything but get on a plane, even though I would be received on arrival into the capacious bosom of North American fandom. Robin Johnson told me what plane ticket I wanted. Then he went off to England leaving me to buy it for myself. I let time pass for a while, writing a few letters to possible hosts, until I realised that the deadline for the payment of my advance purchase fare was nearly upon me. I rushed off a frantic telegram to Rusty Hevelin, who sent me the money just before the onset of a postal strike! I won't bore you with reminiscences of my war with the travel agents. Their cheerfully unbusinesslike outlook on life would have qualified them for fandom, but fans don't do it for money; not other people's. With only minor assistance from the travel agents I obtained a visa for the U.S.A. I was obliged to complete a curious form which indicated that the U.S. Government was chiefly concerned with two matters. First, had I ever been a Communist, even -- I read the question several times to be sure -- unknowingly? Taking the risk that they would never find out that I once went to a Fabian Society lecture on the Australian film industry I replied in the negative. Secondly, they wanted to know what assurance I could offer that I was definitely going to return to Godzone. I told them that I could not possibly practise law in a foreign country, which no doubt explains why they gave me a visa that expired the day I was due to come home. (Eric Lindsay got a five year visa for the same trip...) This was my first brush with what I found to be the normal attitude of the U.S. Immigration Department, viz "Welcome to the U.S.A., when are you leaving?" The bank, although competent, were similarly co-operative. Of course they could arrange travellers cheques, if I said "Please" and curtseyed to the picture of the Queen. I decided to turn almost all of my meagre savings into U.S. dollars (I had assured Uncle Sam that I would be carrying plenty of money). "What can I lose?" I said to them. "I can always get a refund on what I don't spent, and I expect we'll be devaluing anyway." Stunned silence. "Devaluing...Madam, this is a bank. You can't use language like that in here, it's against Treasury regulations!" We did devalue, but clearly well-brought-up young ladies are not supposed to know about such things. On Leigh and Valma's advice I took no chances and had a smallpox vaccination which gave me the opportunity to compare itineraries with the doctor, who also had the travel bug. On Sunday 22nd August 1976, farewelled by my family and assorted fannish wellwishers, I joined the cast of thousands in that well-known comedy of errors International Air Travel. As a seasoned domestic traveller I had my suspicions that the people who write the commercials never actually -- 1 --