Crimefest

I had a great time at Crimefest last weekend at Bristol.  It’s a pretty long weekend, lasting from Thursday until Sunday, and it’s perhaps as well that it doesn’t last any longer!  After all, I do need to sleep sometimes….

It’s quite a heady sensation for any writer to be in the company of other writers.  All of a sudden, all the thoughts and reflections that you usually keep to yourself – such as ideas for plots, sparks of sentences and a really interesting piece of character observation can be said out loud without the people you’re talking to wanting to send for men in white coats.

The weekend started as it was destined to go on when about a million of us roamed Bristol looking for food on Friday night.  We eventually ended up in The Funky Greek where – I was the pathfinder and Mosquito pilot in this setup – the proprietor folded me in a warm embrace when I asked if he could take us all in. This exuberant man pushed tables together, rushed back and forwards with wine, and served random Greek bits and pieces on long dishes.  As it was fashionably dimly-lit, I couldn’t quite see what I was eating – vine leaves came into it, I know - but it was all good.  To celebrate the end of the meal, he served trays of tiny glasses of continental liqueurs and – going back to square one – embraced me fondly yet again and asked if I wanted to dance.  Three steps later and I was ripped away from him in the most unseemly way by Suzette Hill, who went on to prove that not can she write brilliant books, but is a mean performer on the dance-floor.  Yo, go Suzette!  I retreated to my liqueur and talked to Thomas from San Francisco, who was enjoying every minute of it. 

One of the amiable things about Crimefest is the complete lack (as far as I can see, anyway) of the Us and Them mentality.  There are star guests, of course, but they aren’t hurried away, as at some conventions, to be the sole property of the Committee, as happens at some conventions.  Every published author appears on at least one panel over the weekend, so we all have our chance of glory.  Then, of course, the panels are thrown open to questions from the audience, which is just as well – listening to a fascinating conversation is one thing, but the chance to join in is brilliant.

As any conventioneer knows, it’s the discussions away from the panels that can be the most memorable.  I particularly enjoyed talking to Joanne from Alice Springs, who drives a Toyota round large bits of Australia and wondered if it ever actually stopped raining in England.  Only occasionally, Joanne!  Her next stop is Ireland.  Er… I don’t think the weather’s much better there either!

Sally Powers of I Love A Mystery had also come over from the USA.  I was impressed beyond measure when she told me she’d been the casting director for, amongst other things, Hill Street Blues and Bewitched.   Hill Street Blues is, of course, legendary and was completely unmissable but Bewitched.   Wow.  And again, Wow.  She laughed herself silly when I said I and the rest of the kids in a school playground in Greater Manchester (I’m referring to my extreme youth here) used to try to get our noses to twitch.  Eventually we all gave up and wiggled  the tips of our noses with our fingers, but Elizabeth Montgomery could do it for real.  See, it was all true.  I knew it.  Sally is one of the few people I’ve ever met who remembered a programme I used to adore.  It was called My Mother The Car and, in that cosy 1950’s-early 60’s American middle-class setting had the weirdly surrealist idea of a chap whose mother had been re-incarnated as a car.  He used to go and stand in the garage and talk to it/her. 

Toby and Bill Gottfried were there too, from America. They seem to know so many people that I feel I hardly have to say more, but they are just about one of the nicest couples I know.  What they don’t know about Cimefic isn’t worth knowing and their kindness to new authors is heart-warming.  I always feel better for talking to them and Toby’s got an infectious laugh.  And – bless her – she noticed what I was wearing!  Call me shallow, but gosh, I was pleased.  I mean, as I explained to her, I run the gauntlet at home.  The kids look at me with that disdain that only a fashion-conscious teenager can really pull off and say things like, “Mother!  You aren’t going out in that, are you?”  Lucy’s most shattering remark is that I “Look jolly”. At which juncture I might as well stay in. When my fourteen-year old Jenny, Manchester’s answer to the fashion guru, Gok Wan, says I’m passable then all is well.  (When Jenny nicks my clothes it’s painful but a compliment of sorts) but – and this is the point – I had, perforce, left my family of arbiters at home and was doing this all by myself. Matching shoes and all. Result!

Teresa Chris, my agent, arrived on Saturday and took a few of us to lunch, followed by a thoroughly enjoyable shopping trip.  She wanted walking shoes (leather, sensible and last-a-lifetime) and then we hit the charity shops where you can be frivolous on farthings, so to speak.  I found the most hilarious bag I’ve ever seen; bright sunrise yellow with Elvis on it picked out with rhinestones.  Six quid later and it was mine, mine, mine… until I got home.  Gok Wan took one look and the handbag changed owners.

So to all who organized and attended Crimefest, a big thank-you.  There are so many people I should mention, such as Roger Hudson, Jane Finnis (coffee and chat) Jenny Palmer, Linda Reagan, Ruth Dudley Edwards and all the Constable and Robinson team who hosted the party on Saturday night.  Thanks – and didn’t we have a great time? Roll on next year.