The witch regrets the late running of today’s blog, and any convenience this may cause to your day.
I was most of the way through my egg sandwich when David Fickling found me in the foyer of the Unicorn Theatre yesterday. (His red scarf matched my shoes, but somehow he looked more elegant.) He was pleased to see me reading. Well, I’m a bookwitch. Duh. We’re on kissing terms, but it seems as if the man spends most of his days kissing his way past all the females he encounters.
The Unicorn was heaving with literary people, which wasn’t a complete coincidence, as many of us had been invited to drinks before the show. Authors, agents, Random ladies, family members and a lone witch were there to see The London Eye Mystery, Siobhan Dowd’s wonderful book about aspie Ted and his lost cousin.
It was lovely. The play I mean. (The gathering, too, of course.) We choked up a bit and cried some, and laughed as well. Many of us admitted to having forgotten the very special voice of Ted, which when translated for the stage is at least as strong as in the novel.
We got to mingle with the actors during drinks, and both sides were equally star struck. ‘Gloria’ was very bubbly and ‘Ted’ was nothing like Ted.
Everyone very kindly tried to introduce me to David Fickling. (Hate to think how many kisses that would have amounted to.) I must have looked needy. Otherwise I had to recognise everyone all by myself. Lee Weatherly was there, and so was Fiona Dunbar who was one of the driving forces behind the evening. With her was Siobhan’s very good friend Helen from New York, who I finally got to meet. (And when I did, I thrust a whole pile of books at her.) Agent Hilary (I know that sounds like the FBI) was there for something like the third time. Siobhan’s sisters had also already seen the play.
Not counting Facebook I talked to Tony Bradman for the first time, and Anthony McGowan came with a small person. So did Candy Gourlay, which was lucky for me, as she’d promised to let me sleep in her cupboard under the stairs. Very, very kind of her. She even offered me a cauldron. Her lovely husband Richard was also very lovely. Random ladies Lauren, Mum Clare and brand new Random Rosie were there, and RR narrowly escaped a DF kiss. I think.
As Richard took the younger generation home, Candy, Fiona and Helen allowed a non-author to join them for a meal and LOTS of gossip. No really, I’m too discreet. But since you ask there was something about Jeremy Irons. Then I was spirited backwards to north London, home of all children’s authors in the world. Almost.
After a very comfortable night’s sleep (not under the stairs, I hasten to add) I had breakfast with Candy, while comparing notes on our foreign-ness. In Random style she then marched me up the hill to the tube station, where I left for home and Candy took off for her coffee haunt, away from the internet, to write the next novel.