The P-Puffin p-party

London did what it does best on Monday night. It offered one of those balmy evenings, when it’s a pleasure to stroll along the South Bank, with the lights and the sights. The witch household had shivered under blankets as she left, but it’s a well known fact that it’s warmer in the south.

The people at Puffin felt compelled to express their love for the witch and a few others behind their successful publishing business, by throwing a party. The noise level at the Tate Modern rose a little too much, so most of my chatting happened early. And do you have any idea of how fast Nicholas Tucker can walk in a party crowd? He, and some other prey, will simply have to be caught some other time, when I will avail myself of a broomstick.

My technique for sidling up to people and start a conversation with the opening line that I haven’t yet read their book/s, needs some improvement. Worse still, was having to admit that I’d not got further on one book than I had at our last meeting, five months ago. Bad witch. Could always talk about the weather, I suppose.

If I name drop now, I’ll forget someone, or it could be that I just didn’t see or recognise some people. Kevin Brooks was there. So were Linda Chapman, Lauren Child, Linzi Glass, Charlie Higson, Graham Marks, Meg Rosoff and Ed Vere. And absolutely loads of the lovely Puffin ladies, some who weren’t ladies, and many others who do things that have to do with books.

And an EastEnder. I’m the kind of person who knows so little about soaps, that I was able to have a Coronation Street neighbour without knowing it. But I think Ross Kemp is in soaps. Which reminds me of the time I wanted to buy soap and googled Mitchell’s wool fat soap, and got EastEnders instead. Television! Bah!

5 responses to “The P-Puffin p-party

  1. What a lovely photo of the Tate!

    I’m in two minds about whether to attend the Faber summer party or not. Mostly a case of, can I be bothered? And what would I talk about?

  2. Go. If only to annoy them a little.

    Talk? Cat’s Paw, of course.

  3. I knew it. I’d miss and forget people. I saw Tom Palmer and Giles Andreae, of course. And that man I kept seeing and recognising, but couldn’t put a name to, was Raymond Briggs (according to the Puffin blog). Silly witch.

  4. That’s about 12 more people than I got a chance to see or talk to. It’s the problem with big noisy parties — you always end up at home counting the people across a crowded room you didn’t get to talk to. Including the witch! (Who did very well in the rather nerve-wracking outfit stakes, I thought.)

  5. Talk? I think it was us elderly who suffered. Shared profound views with someone in the ladies, which was quieter. Saw no point in trying to talk more to you, as we would have been shouting.

    Thank you. You did well, too. It was you who scared me into worrying about clothes in the first place. But I need something for when I see the Norwegian ambassador next month, anyway…

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