Cheltenham Literary Festival or As I Walked Out One Autumn Afternoon

I've decided I love literary festivals.  Not that I have that much experience--but three pretty big ones in three months must count for something.  I've written here about my Edinburgh experiences in August, and my September day at Bath Festival doing two school events was huge fun.  But this week was Cheltenham Festival, and it started off well with a slight diversion to have lunch (with excellent cider) at Laurie Lee's local, the Woolpack Inn in Slad, Gloucestershire. Cider With Rosie was always one of my favourite books, and I can tell you the Woolpack hasn't changed much (at least in decor) since Rosie's day.  It's a really proper pub, with plenty of local colour, good food--and best of all it's owned by a local artist now and not some faceless brewery, so the link to creativity is maintained.  But now, on to Cheltenham....

The efficiency and friendliness of Cheltenham Literary Festival is legendary.  A few weeks ago I went to the launch party in London, met lovely organisers Nicola Tuxworth and Jane Churchill--and was given a goodie bag containing, among other useful things such as a memory stick and throat pastilles, a whole big box of chocolate biscuits.  What author wouldn't be well-disposed to a festival which provides much-needed chocolatey sustenance plus endless champagne before you even arrive?  I got to the Writers' Room in good time--rather too good, as it was empty and echoey and much scarier than the Edinburgh yurt.  But soon enough I was whisked away to be fitted with the sort of microphone worn by famous popstars--you know the kind--has a little flesh-coloured thingy beside your mouth (and, I now know, backwards NHS metal glasses fixtures to go over the ears).  Then, to not-nearly but almost popstar applause, I was on.  Once I'd worked out the vagaries of the clicky thing (always good for a bit of laughter when this goes wrong, which it invariably does) the hour passed in a flash, and then I was into a signing frenzy, with even a queue.  I don't generally expect queues. 

But the nicest thing of all happened at the end.  I knew some kids had had a problem with their bus, and would be late (they crept in so quietly I hardly noticed).  So after the signing I sat and talked to them for a bit (they all asked mega-intelligent questions).  There was one boy at the back who was anxious to know whether I'd got the Fates and the Furies in my books--and whether I'd got in 'the bit about the copper tower.'  I recognised a child who knew his stuff on Greek myths--and I can't tell you what a thrill it gave me to know that the tales of long ago which I love so much can still light an answering passionate flame in a twenty-first century child.