My notebook appears to have run out of ‘new’ notes. That’s despite it having been written in from both directions at once (there is method in how I do things, even if it is my method). But at least it’s purple.
There was more mud this year. Mostly sunny while we were there, so the mud will have been caused by mysterious rain that rained when we looked the other way. The ducks were larger, which makes sense, as a year is a long time and ducks must grow, too. (Bet they thought the same thing about me.)
No sooner had I thought the thought that EIBF being in Scotland meant there would be no surplus Gudrun Sjödén clothes being worn, than I encountered someone wearing a Gudrun Sjödén t-shirt. The same pattern I had on, but luckily not the same top. (They were Danish.)
It was mostly the same people behind the scenes, including the photographer with the polychrome hair. He had been given his very own Ikea rattan chair to sit on. Hmph.
Worked out that the man I kept seeing and who looked so familiar each time, was in fact John Fardell. Must remember I have something I want him to sign. But it helps if I know who to approach first.
Didn’t buy many books. I don’t buy books if I can help it. And it definitely helps when people like the very generous Julie Bertagna come bearing gifts. Signed and everything.
Wonder who the VIPs were, who got special treatment from the photographers? Usually people get to pose for a posse of the paparazzi, but in this instance the paparazzi waited for them, somewhere else, and these people stopped briefly and posed, before going on. They were clearly so very VIP that I didn’t know them.
Latecomers were not admitted to events. It’s understandable. I hate it when someone makes a noise and disturbs whoever is talking. But latecomers are admitted, and audiences do turn around and stare and it does cause interruption. And if your phone rings and you run out – after considerable disturbance – you will be allowed back in again. To be fair, they weren’t originally late. Just noisy.
And bookwitches get exhausted. That is a serious drawback. For our last event the photographer and I went to the crypt at St John’s church, where Neil Gaiman was entertaining a smallish number of fans and normal people. It was organised by the Edinburgh Bookshop, and was a very good idea. In fact, I’m amazed it was even possible to do on such a small scale.
Neil started off by reading a short story. It’s one I’ve read, but it’s always good to hear Neil read, so whatever he picks is fine. He said that he tends to edit as he goes along, finding things he’d have done differently if he was writing it again. This one was about shining white knights and charity shops. The holy grail. That sort of thing.
After the reading he sat down to chat with Vanessa from the bookshop, and to be honest, I can’t remember a thing they said. But it was interesting. And the nice thing about crypts is that the acoustics are good. This crypt also served nibbles in the interval, but I’m afraid we didn’t stop to sample things because we were, as I’ve already mentioned, slightly done in. And when the second half of Neil Gaiman, as well as an event with Eoin Colfer the following day aren’t enough to tempt us, then you know we’ve had enough.
But we hadn’t had what the police officers with the sniffer dogs were looking for. The train we were on was met by sniffer dogs, and after years of avoiding them at school, Daughter finally had to succumb. (Anyway, what is the world coming to when your innocent Offspring is used to police searches at school?)
We are now back home – the home home – and have recovered somewhat. Not ready to think about a next time. Yet.