I’ve written (to date) my longest post on Some Photoblog about him and IRL I can talk about him for so long, that if I should ever get kidnapped, I’d make the kidnappers release me because they’d be sick to their teeth of listening to me rambling about him.
Somehow I’ve felt for a while that one day I’d get to meet him at some convention. And I did. The convention was Dream It Fest convention in London. (Which I’m sorry to say had absolutely atrociously awful organisation, honestly shocking, considering the actors present, among whom were Emilia Clarke, Ben Barnes and some others from the series Shadow and Bone, the Heartstopper cast, Simone Ashley and Natalia Tena.) My VIP ticket for Sam included a photoshoot, an autograph, and a front seat at Sam’s panel.
(Hiding the half of the photograph where I appear (you can see my fingers on Sam’s arm) under Sam’s autograph, as I am not someone who looks good on pictures. There is a reason I don’t show my face on my profile pics–and my body ain’t that much better. At least my siblings persuaded me not to cut myself out of the photo. You can see just how freaking beautiful he looks there, so with me next to him–naaah.)
I was, as could be expected, star struck as fuck, but I managed to keep it together. The photoshoot was actually my best experience, despite my hatred of being photographed, and not something I would ever care about, had it not meant meeting Sam. He was so nice, and we even started a conversation until the member of the staff had to remind us that we were there to have a picture taken. During the autograph session, however, I said nothing, apart from “I’m pretty sure you know how to spell Linda” (a staff member gave me a post-it note, on which she wrote my name, so that he’d know who to dedicate the autograph to). Got kinda tongue-tied.
That’s about all I wanted to share today. I’m not going to talk about how I had to take a coach to London and thus had a five-and-a-half-hour journey each way, because I couldn’t trust the trains (they’re on strike a lot, and even with the queen’s death and crowds flooding to London, I still couldn’t rely on them not to cancel services), I’m not going to talk about how that one night at a hotel cost me more than the VIP ticket for Sam Claflin at Dream It Fest, I’m not going to talk about how I was a pure ball of nerves over the whole trip, and that even now, full twenty four hours after my return from London, my stomach is still so tight I eat to only sustain myself.
None of that matters.