Hay ho

Something about being at Hay Festival compels me to sit and scribble. This is what I wrote yesterday.

So here I am back at Hay Festival again. A lively breeze is whipping the tops of the trees, the creaky aluminium-framed tents are protesting and the tall pastel ripple-edged flags are waving as though frantically trying to catch some attention. We are surrounded by green pastures. Continue reading “Hay ho”

Hay: over and out

So Sunday, the last day at Hay Festival was pretty idyllic.   A sunny afternoon relaxed into a glorious  evening and the final remnants of the sun-worshipping literati lay on the lawn reading or splayed out in one of the deckchairs.

Listening to Stephen Fry in the Barclays tent, a guttural bleating interrupted the proceedings and made me think “Hah. Some farmer’s phone with a comic sheep ring-tone. How apt.” Continue reading “Hay: over and out”