‘I’m wearing orange and white stripes and I’m standing by the departures board. Please come and rescue me.’ That’s not quite what Elen Caldecott said in her text message, but it was close. She had asked if I wanted to meet up when she came to Manchester on book business (talking to young, and very reluctant, readers in Moss Side), and I said yes and suggested one of the usual coffee chains near Piccadilly, which had her local guide from the Manchester Literature Festival try every coffee-ish place in Piccadilly.
Since it was raining and Elen had a train to catch, I’d already changed my mind about the venue, anyway. After a brief recce for a suitable place to sit and chat I had, rather uncharacteristically, settled on a bar in the station. It turned out to be reasonably good, and with no bottled water for witches, I became a very cheap date. Elen herself drank what looked like a large soup bowl of weak coffee, but apparently it was a large bowl of tea. Same difference.
Elen writes marvellous, and very readable, books for younger children, and she’s an obvious choice to introduce reluctant readers to. They had all been given her book beforehand, and some had read it – or tried to – which is what matters. I’m always impressed when organisations like the Manchester LitFest work so hard at introducing children to books.
So what did we talk about? How excellent Wales is at the promotion of literature. Elen is Welsh. Did I say? She even speaks Welsh. Not to me, thankfully (although I could obviously have retaliated). How Bath is too beautiful to live in. The pride northern towns take in their children’s book awards, complete with Town Halls and Mayors and stuff.
And, I really hope Elen hadn’t read my moan that morning about what (not) to ask me, because she had some pretty good conversation starters. (I didn’t even need to mention the three keyrings I was almost given at Piccadilly. Or the free plastic wallet for train tickets.)
We agreed on the excellence of Bloomsbury’s Emma, who arranges book tours for authors with new books out. Elen has written a play, Corina Pavlova (yummy name), which is a dual language production, and it sounds fantastic!
Seemingly suffering from none of the travel nerves some of us cultivate, we only rose from our bowl of tea and free tap water when Elen’s train was just about ready to leave without her. I even permitted myself to be train-napped and joined her on the Bournemouth train. Needless to say, neither of us was going to Bournemouth.
I had to get off pretty soon again, but thanks to this clever move I caught a train home that left Piccadilly while we were still in the bar…
Now, if anyone else would like to buy me free water I might just be available.