Ever read a book? There’s a literary festival for you
Forget about fêtes, fairs and fayres: every town or decentsized village must have its own literary festival. Authors, publishers and publicists will be traipsing from marquee to marquee to talk about what first inspired them. Here is a guide to some upcoming events:
Maisie Blinkers, the exciting new cookery writer and advocate of “nice eating”, will be at Great Tatterton later this month to discuss her book of vegetarian recipes, The
Ethical Spatula. This year, Great Tatterton is combining its literary festival with the traditional hog roast and dog show.
Visitors to the Swanbury Bookfest are in for a special treat in July as the star guest is TV weatherman hunk Steve Boot, promoting his ground-breaking coffee-table book, Great Unforeseen Festival Washouts. (If wet, the talk will take place in the craft shop.) There will also be an exhibition of stunning colour photographs of great muddy car parks.
Following the inconveniences at last year’s Wittersfield Literary Festival, when a herd of bewildered heifers invaded the tent and interrupted Hortense Harrison’s workshop, Bonking in Books: How to Write a Sex Scene, the organisers have decided to “go virtual” this year. Visit wittersfieldlit.co.uk. Also, it is hoped festival visitors will be able to Skype J H Spoke, the expert on country lore and author of The Old Ways Are Best. Top crime writer Tom Dick will be interviewed by top interviewer Marjorie Harry at the Crazy About Books Festival in Wackford about his new mystery thriller Death on the Flyleaf, the tale of a grisly murder at a book signing. This will be followed by a carboot sale at which a number of interesting paperbacks are likely to be available. (The publishers of A Naked
by the millionaire entrepreneur Walter Snapchat, have asked me to point out that this book, which he will be promoting at the Brandersbury Festival, is a lighthearted account of his years in the electrical retail business and not, as was suggested, a denunciation of literary festivals.) “Good morning, and thank you for agreeing, at long last, to appear before this House of Commons select committee, Mr Terrible.”
“Please call me Ivan. Or, if you insist on being formal, I prefer to be known as Ivan the Firm but Fair.”
“As you know, we are here to consider whether you acted responsibly in your capacity as Tsar of All the Russias in the 16th century. We have heard a number of reports which, if true, would certainly shock the hard-working people of Britain.”
“I am sure you understand, Mr Chairman, I was under a lot of pressure as Tsar of All the Russias and a few things may have happened in some of the Russias which were not brought to my attention at the time. If they had been, I would certainly have instituted a review of practices.”
“Well, Mr Terrible, this committee has already heard evidence from two of your executives, Igor the Devious and Vladimir the Unhinged. They say you were prone to fits of murderous rage and that some of your junior staff referred to you as Ivan the Utterly Irresponsible.”
“Look, this is some kind of joke. I regret appointing both Mr Devious and Mr Unhinged. They let me down.”
“They say they advised you against the Massacre of Novgorod, but you went ahead anyway.”
“The point is, if you undertake a conquest it is inevitable that a slimming down of personnel will follow. This was not a massacre, it was a process of streamlining.”
“That is all for now, Mr Terrible, but I must warn you that this committee has the power to impose a hefty fine, or to disbar you from oppressing for a period of five years.” What is that sinister noise behind me as I walk down the street? It sounds as if I am being followed by a giant caterpillar. It’s squelchy. There is also a clicking noise. So it must be a giant caterpillar popping bubble-wrap. It is also smacking its gums. I am being followed by a giant, slavering caterpillar.
It will follow me home and burst through my front door. Then it will squirt me with its paralysing saliva and use the bubble-wrap to build a cocoon from which an immense moth will emerge. There will be headlines: “OAP in Caterpillar Saliva Horror. Plague of Killer Moths in South-West London.”
At last I summon the courage to look back. I see a middle-aged man in shorts and a T-shirt, with his sunglasses propped on top of his head. Then I look at his feet. Ah yes, the flip-flop season is here again.