I intend to be well into my first pint of the Harrogate Crime Festival (or rather the Theakston's Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival to give it its full and proper title), hanging out with the assembled hordes of the Billingham Talk Zone, and talking rubbish with likeminded persons of a delicate and sensitive nature. Or just getting completely weaseled with a bunch of crime writers, whichever comes first.
Getting weaselled has the added advantage of acting like an anaesthetic when it comes to not winning the TOP CNoTY on the Thursday night. Instead of storming off in a bearded huff, or taking a swing at the actual winner, I'll be well into, "You're my bestest mate, an' I... I... urp... oh, excuse me -- that one tasted of cheese and onion crisps... where was I? More beer!" And all will be right with the world.
For those of you playing along at home, my prediction for the winner would be... Allan Guthrie, or Christopher Brookmyre. At least that means that someone Scottish will be walking off with the little wooden barrel of joy! Hoots mon!
I'm also going to be gathering data for my panel on Saturday: Getting Vigorous, with which to flummox and fluster my protagonists: Caroline Carver, Simon Kernick, Zoë Sharp, and Michael Marshall (nee Smith). I've never moderated a panel before, so I've decided to make things a hell of a lot more difficult than they need to be. That'll teach me!
As far as I can see, Saturday's Getting Vigorous will either be a lot of fun, or a complete and utter arse-biting disaster. I'm hoping it's the former, but I'll take my hipflask with me, just in case.
To the drinks cabinet!
Labels: Cold Granite, ego, events