Finally the big day had arrived. No, not Christmas. Nope, not my wedding day. Not even the first day of the Topshop sale.
The day when we would go to the world-famous Hay literary festival.
Me, my mum, my nan and my sis (feel free to sing this like the Vindaloo song, kids of the 90s. Apologies to anyone outside England, who won’t have a clue what that it) piled in my Mini and got ready to visit the infamous Welsh village.
We had tickets to hear Philippa Gregory speak, and we were a little overexcited. To a literary geek such as myself, this was like going to a rock concert. My sister got so excited, she nearly threw her knickers at the stage.
Here are some of my highlights, in the form of a list (who don’t love a list?):
The toll bridge. Even though it took my money, I still liked it.
The many many bookshops. It’s a wonder I have any money left.
The many many vintage shops. I may have bought a vintage suitcase. And then attracted lots of strange looks as I proudly carried it to my car. Worth it though. Sticky moment when I got home to realise that they had locked it, and not given me a key. Amazing what a sharp knife can do though.
Ham sandwiches in the pub. I’ve blogged about this pub before, and that’s because it is silly good. There were two dogs in there today. Note to self: learn to act cool when spotting new dogs.
How lovely and local the festival is. Lots of people were selling sandwiches and drinks from their front lawns, or tempting you with piles of ribbon-tied asparagus and cartons of British strawberries.
Unveiling my new feather hair extensions. Although, as sister pointed out, I have a lot of hair, so it is sometimes difficult to spot them.
Philippa Gregory. If you haven’t read any of this woman’s books, and you’re partial to a slice of historical fiction, buy one immediately. I want to be friends with this woman. I want to go out for lunch with her and discuss Tudor England over a bottle of wine. We could talk about how clever William Cecil was, whether or not Anne Boleyn was a bit of a court bike and discuss whether or not Elizabeth I was the ultimate redhead. The woman is cool. Funny and clever, with fabulous taste in jumpers.
And she signed my book. She knows my NAME. We’re practically friends already.
My new plant pot. If plant pots could be described as fit, this one is.
Celebrity spottings. I didn’t (I’m easily distracted by shiny things. Brad Pitt could walk past me, and I’d probably be gawping at a chocolate wrapper on the floor, muttering “OOH shiny” to myself). However, my friend spotted Tony Robinson aka Baldrick. Imagine – chatting with a bonafide celeb about books? The mind boggles.
Bunting. I love a bit of bunting.
Hay is the most dog friendly village in the world. I saw THREE sausage dogs. I’m not even lying.
An abundance of lovely smelling flowers. Happy nostrils.
I was around my own kind. Literary geeks, who spend far too long with their faces buried in books. You know the type – glasses from strained eyes, slightly pale because they sit inside too much? Or, as I call them, legends.
And finally, I was around three special people. My mum, my gran and my sister. Happy days.