I said rather tersely that I’d have to check my engagements first because I was getting booked up pretty quickly this year, and I’d get back to her, but her hide was pure rhinoceros and my pathetic little dart of importance just bounced off.

When I got home there was a mysterious message asking me to ring back, so I did. What a surprise – I was asked to do an event at the most prestigious three-day literary festival at Wryhove in June! Admittedly it was only because someone else had dropped out literally at the last minute, for clearly anyone who was anyone in the writing world was either already booked to appear or otherwise engaged, and they were definitely scraping round the bottom of the rainwater butt with me.

I was asked to sit on a writers’ panel, and also do some kind of session – I didn’t know what, or when; they obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead yet … and in fact, they seemed curiously relieved that I could string a sentence together on the phone. But I planned to prepare a reading and a short talk (perhaps about flower imagery in literature) which would be unforgettable and then they’d probably invite me every year!

This was so exciting – at last I’d be mingling on an equal footing (sort of) with the greats of the literary world.

The excitement – and nervousness – was intense … which reminded me: I gathered most of the events did take place in tents. What on earth would I wear?

Nineteen

Advances