Toward
the end of last year, I went to an academic conference. I’ve attended quite a
few in the past – they’re one way of keeping up with the latest thinking in
one’s subject, especially valuable for independent writer/researchers like me
who work largely alone, only occasionally dipping into the academic milieu.
Generally, I’ve enjoyed these conferences, though they are perhaps more fun in
retrospect, or at least after one has given one’s paper, when one can relax.
But this one left me depressed.
Don’t
get me wrong. It was a nice enough conference. The organisers had gone to some
trouble to make attendees feel welcome. There were thoughtfully arranged
extra-conference activities, and an elegant dinner, complete with a piper and a
man in a kilt telling jokes between the main course and dessert.
