In a bonus to the stories enjoyed in a brisk walk around Lydiard Park grounds (lucky old Swindon with this on its doorstep) with international storyteller Rachel Rose Reid, ponies and their cute foals were close up to the fence by the path.
Rachel Rose followed two stories of love with a ‘Just So’ inspired tale of an elephant that ate its own eyes. She made us do the suction sounds as the eyes popped out. I’ve still not recovered. Continue reading
Naomi Benaron
The only time I run is for the bus or the train.
I’m not saying I’m proud of this fact. And I’m getting to that scary age where running without some kind of stretching warm up is positively bad for my health. A long way, in fact, from the time where simply walking was just impossible. My five year old gives me this uncomprehending look when I tell him to walk (like when crossing the road), you know – that’s a run. Nope, that’s a skip. A walk is when one foot is still on the ground when the other one leaves it. Slow. Not fast. Still blank look. You know, like mum and dad. Oh – boring!
I’m also not a fan of watching sport. Maybe a bit of tennis. Perhaps even snooker though to be honest I’m not even watching the current world championships. (Whenever I watch it, Ronnie O’Sullivan loses. So I stopped. And he wins).
So when Swindon Festival of Literature director Matt asked me to chronicle the running event on the opening day (Monday 7 May) it was, at first, a dutiful ‘yes’ in response.
Then when he told me about the people taking part and their interesting stories, I was hooked. Continue reading
Swindon Festival of Literature launch. Photo by Festival Chronicler
So I’ve just agreed to do this crazy thing.
Report on twenty-nine literature events in twelve days.
That’s twenty-nine sparklingly written accounts, plus any other back stage gossip and thoughts and feelings I can find, complete with illustrative photos, on this year’s Swindon Festival of Literature as the *trumpets herald* first ever Official Festival Chronicler. Continue reading
The last event in my excursion to Cheltenham Festival of Literature event was Poetry and all that Jazz, Slak Bar, night time.
After Mab Jones’ collective came five poetic performers. In the end, I sat on a bar stool in Slak for over five hours. Not good for the back but sure beats a night in with the TV, especially as mine doesn’t work. Continue reading
Just did one day of Cheltenham Poetry Festival yesterday (it runs until Sunday) and had a great time. I was part of, ahem, select audiences who I got to know (hi to Ki and poets Nick and Alice).
First up: Domestic Cherry in the basement of gothic-looking pub, Tailors. It felt like I was entering the mansion of Elvira Mistress of the Dark (brilliant!). It had the air of a secret gig (i.e. a distinct lack of festival signage). Continue reading
Domestic Cherry
Cheltenham Poetry Festival opens today. Current stinky cold willing, I’m off to see my crazy friends, Domestic Cherry and more tomorrow: poetry to the people!
Festival Chronicle 