Crimefest

Here’s a merry crew at Crimefest. Reading from left to right, there’s Kate Ellis, John Curran, Yours Truly and Jane Finnis, brilliant writers one and all.  We, in keeping with the occasion were shouting out names of poisons instead of the customary “Cheese”.  I think this is the cyanide photo, so to speak.

I was on a panel with both John and Kate.  I thought it had gone well but, I must admit, I had no idea of how well until I was nabbed in the hallway by a small Korean lady. When I say small, I mean really small.  At four foot something, she came up to about chest height, grabbed my elbow, which was about as far as she could reach, and fastened me with the sort of glare the Ancient Mariner was wont to bestow on his interlocutors.

“You amazing!” she barked, fixing me with a steely glare.  “You extraordinary!”

Well, you know, it’s always nice when someone gets to the heart of the matter like that:  it showed, I thought, remarkable perception, but people don’t usually get it straight off the bat.  I was amazed at her perspicacity.

Fortunately, Rebecca Jenkins was with me. It’s useful to have a witness in cases like this to attest to the unsullied truth of the tale.  Becca’s face showed nothing but smiling agreement, although I could’ve sworn I heard a cracking sound as one of her ribs went with suppressed laughter.  Becca, who is of average height, bowed slightly, smiling as I say.  The Korean lady stepped back and bowed in return.  It was so obviously expected good manners, I bowed as well, the Korean lady bowed, Becca bowed back, etc, etc, so the rest of the conversation, if you can call it that, had the three of us beaming and bobbing at each other like mechanical toys.

The Korean lady broke off and hurled herself at me again.  “You write magnificent!” she declaimed.  “You have great gift! You write extraordinary!”

Well, this was even better.  “Have you read any of my books?” I asked hopefully.

The Korean lady looked mildly affronted.  “No!  I not read.”

Ah well, you can’t have everything.

“You write!  You have extraordinary eyes!  I see soul in your eyes!  You write with soul.”

There was quite a lot more about my soul, with which she seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance (it was “great” and “extraordinary” – there’s that word again) and, summing up, a totally bonza soul and just like mother makes.  Oh, and it’s in my eyes.  That point was more than adequately covered.

“Do you,” I asked, hoping to steer the talk away from my soul, “write?”

“I write masterpiece!”

There’s nothing like self belief, is there?  We heard quite a bit more about the masterpiece before, with a final compliment about my extraordinary eyes and soul, she hurtled off as if she was worried about being caught discussing souls in public.

“Well,” said Becca, which seemed to sum the whole thing up.

She then, as we wended our way to the dinner, said the whole thing reminded her of when, as the Archbishop’s secretary, she opened the door to a rigid-looking man on the doorstep.

“Hello!”  he said.  “I am from Liverpool.  I am God.”

“Oh dear,” said Rebecca, a little lost for words.  “How very complicated for you.”

That sort of incident seemed to sum up Crimefest.  Weird, wacky, lots of good friends, some brilliant conversations (not all about my soul, thank goodness) and a host of new memories to bring back.

It was terrific to listen to the great Frederick Forsyth, prince of thriller writers, recount his early life and a genuine privilege to hear PD James who, at 92, is still as sharp and articulate as ever.  Great to finally put some faces to names, such as Carol Giles and so pleasant catching up with John Curran, Lesley Horton, Len (L.C.) Tyler, Sally Spedding, Jennifer Palmer, Kate Ellis (who betrayed her Manchester origins by wondering if she needed a cardi to go outside in eighty-degree heat) and old mates such as Jane Finnis.  Add to that Edwin Buckhalter, Severn House publisher and all-round nice bloke, a cracking hotel and an excellent programme, Crimefest was a blast.

Here’s a merry crew at Crimefest. Reading from left to right, there’s Kate Ellis, John Curran, Yours Truly and Jane Finnis, brilliant writers one and all.  We, in keeping with the occasion were shouting out names of poisons instead of the customary “Cheese”.  I think this is the cyanide photo, so to speak.

I was on a panel with both John and Kate.  I thought it had gone well but, I must admit, I had no idea of how well until I was nabbed in the hallway by a small Korean lady. When I say small, I mean really small.  At four foot something, she came up to about chest height, grabbed my elbow, which was about as far as she could reach, and fastened me with the sort of glare the Ancient Mariner was wont to bestow on his interlocutors.

“You amazing!” she barked, fixing me with a steely glare.  “You extraordinary!”

Well, you know, it’s always nice when someone gets to the heart of the matter like that:  it showed, I thought, remarkable perception, but people don’t usually get it straight off the bat.  I was amazed at her perspicacity.

Fortunately, Rebecca Jenkins was with me. It’s useful to have a witness in cases like this to attest to the unsullied truth of the tale.  Becca’s face showed nothing but smiling agreement, although I could’ve sworn I heard a cracking sound as one of her ribs went with suppressed laughter.  Becca, who is of average height, bowed slightly, smiling as I say.  The Korean lady stepped back and bowed in return.  It was so obviously expected good manners, I bowed as well, the Korean lady bowed, Becca bowed back, etc, etc, so the rest of the conversation, if you can call it that, had the three of us beaming and bobbing at each other like mechanical toys.

The Korean lady broke off and hurled herself at me again.  “You write magnificent!” she declaimed.  “You have great gift! You write extraordinary!”

Well, this was even better.  “Have you read any of my books?” I asked hopefully.

The Korean lady looked mildly affronted.  “No!  I not read.”

Ah well, you can’t have everything.

“You write!  You have extraordinary eyes!  I see soul in your eyes!  You write with soul.”

There was quite a lot more about my soul, with which she seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance (it was “great” and “extraordinary” – there’s that word again) and, summing up, a totally bonza soul and just like mother makes.  Oh, and it’s in my eyes.  That point was more than adequately covered.

“Do you,” I asked, hoping to steer the talk away from my soul, “write?”

“I write masterpiece!”

There’s nothing like self belief, is there?  We heard quite a bit more about the masterpiece before, with a final compliment about my extraordinary eyes and soul, she hurtled off as if she was worried about being caught discussing souls in public.

“Well,” said Becca, which seemed to sum the whole thing up.

She then, as we wended our way to the dinner, said the whole thing reminded her of when, as the Archbishop’s secretary, she opened the door to a rigid-looking man on the doorstep.

“Hello!”  he said.  “I am from Liverpool.  I am God.”

“Oh dear,” said Rebecca, a little lost for words.  “How very complicated for you.”

That sort of incident seemed to sum up Crimefest.  Weird, wacky, lots of good friends, some brilliant conversations (not all about my soul, thank goodness) and a host of new memories to bring back.

It was terrific to listen to the great Frederick Forsyth, prince of thriller writers, recount his early life and a genuine privilege to hear PD James who, at 92, is still as sharp and articulate as ever.  Great to finally put some faces to names, such as Carol Giles and so pleasant catching up with John Curran, Lesley Horton, Len (L.C.) Tyler, Sally Spedding, Jennifer Palmer, Kate Ellis (who betrayed her Manchester origins by wondering if she needed a cardi to go outside in eighty-degree heat) and old mates such as Jane Finnis.  Add to that Edwin Buckhalter, Severn House publisher and all-round nice bloke, a cracking hotel and an excellent programme, Crimefest was a blast.