Daughter laughed so much her cheeks hurt. (Weird. Is that even possible?) We had tea with Steve Cole at his hotel, in order to do an inexcusably late interview with someone we’ve known and laughed at for so long. Should I tell you about the time he took his trousers off in New York? In the street, I mean.
Better not. Sorry. Standards have been lowered, and all that.
We’d barely got going with the cheek-hurting when we were hailed by cheerful hellos on my right. It was Liz Kessler and friend who walked past, as seems to happen in the best lounges. Liz and Steve didn’t know each other before, but now they do.
Once Steve had gone off to do whatever he had to do after being a perfect gentleman all morning, Daughter informed me that Malorie Blackman had been hiding in a corner all that time.
Honestly. Author overload. Again.
A bit later in the day we ran into Debi Gliori with daughter KR after a reading, and were lured into the yurt for some brief socialising before they had to go home to be fed specially made gnocchi. I say brief, because Debi sauntered off for some water and ended up chatting to Ian Rankin. Can’t say I blame her.
But seeing as we had a ‘date’ with Neil Gaiman, I suppose we are quits.
Before anyone thinks this trip has been a bed of roses, let me tell you that the trains have been full to over-flowing, and that after Neil we didn’t even get on the one we’d gone to catch.
We have reluctantly decided to give Eoin Colfer a miss tomorrow and simply head home. Not that we believe the train home will be a picnic, either.
But I suppose that’s what M&S is for.
And I’ll see what I can do about bringing you up to speed on all those events we haven’t skipped.
Thank you, Bookwitch, for enabling us to share in the delights of the Book Festival without have to endure the exhaustion and the crowds (and the mud?)
Great posts and great pics. Glad to hear that Photowitch has been able to have some laughs. Bet you’re both glad to be home.
We will be. Haven’t begun the presumably arduous ordeal of travelling south on a Bank holiday weekend. Would like my own Tardis.
I’m now sat in my lovely bed, in my wonderful room and it’s great to be home. No more mud.
One horrendous train, one perfectly fine train and one so-so train containing Man United fans, and we are home. Meal made by Son. Suitcases carried by the Resident IT Consultant.
Hey – what happened to you on Saturday? After I’d finished interviewing Neil I came to have a chat and you’d vanished into thin air! Glad you got home safely
Left in the interval, Vanessa. Daughter decided she needed to de-people a little, and then we vainly hoped for an early return to our beds (which didn’t happen). I didn’t have a book to get signed – on account that Neil has already done them all – so felt less need to queue. Though I clearly ought to have stayed and begged a lift with a euphoric Barry Hutchison…
Hang on… he’s not signed my copy of Stardust!! (And that’s the book… not the movie. And the fact that it has Charlie Cox on the front doesn’t matter…)
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