They say these things come in threes. I’m not especially superstitious, but I hope they’re right. Last July I fell off the stage into the orchestra pit at Buxton Opera House, after speaking about my book The Presidents at a literary festival event. I badly damaged my right knee. In mid-April I was driving up the M1 to Hexham Book Festival when I found that the sight in my right eye had deteriorated. And then in May I was on the way back from a similar event in Fowey when I broke my hip falling in Charing Cross underground station. So, if I tell you that I am due to speak at Buckingham, Appledore and Wantage literary festivals in the next few months, you’ll understand why I approach them with trepidation.
Joking aside, I love speaking at such festivals. I tend to accept invitations from the smaller, more remote ones, as they’re usually run by lovely people who are grateful to you for making the effort to go. I’m always surprised when I walk into a village hall to find 150 people eager to hear the pearls fall from my lips.
In contrast, the larger festivals have become depersonalised factory events, where the authors are often regarded as something of an inconvenience. In late March I gave up a whole day to speak on a panel at the Oxford Literary Festival only to discover, when I got there, that they had none of my books on sale. To add insult to injury, they make a packet from ticket sales and then expect the poor beleaguered publisher to cover the author’s travel costs. Publishers need to grow a pair and refuse. Book sales rarely justify the expense, although you never know how many people go home and order it online.
One of the positive things about breaking a knee and a hip within nine months—and, believe me, I have searched for crumbs of comfort—is that you learn what it’s like on public transport for people who are permanently disabled. You learn how fantastic railway station staff are in their ability to anticipate your needs. You learn that train guards have a function other than to check that people have tickets. In short, you learn that trade union leader Mick Lynch, who everyone thinks is my lookalike, is right. Before my accidents I argued that in the modern age we don’t need train guards or station staff. I now know better. Sorry.
♦♦♦
After my fall at Charing Cross, I spent five days in St Thomas’ Hospital on the south side of Westminster Bridge. Much to my surprise, it was a wholly positive experience, with one exception.
The standard of nursing care was outstanding. If only the same could be said of the food, which was even worse than my 1970s school dinners. In my thank- you letter to the hospital—and yes, I did write one—I felt I needed to ask, on what planet can it be right to offer patients a choice of five or six sugary cereal products for breakfast? The only alternative was two slices of toast. The main meals were equally innutritious. Sunday’s roast beef and Yorkshire pudding came without the Yorkshire pudding (my favourite bit). The roast potatoes tasted of nothing. If the carrots hadn’t been orange, there would have been nothing in them to tell me they were carrots. And so it went on. Good food is surely an important part of a patient’s road to recovery. I had to rely on M&S Food in the end. I’m still hankering after that missing Yorkshire pudding…
My next book, a huge tome of biographical essays of British and English monarchs, unimaginatively titled Kings and Queens, goes to the printers in July so I’m immersed in the proofing process. Trying to get 64 different contributors to obey deadlines, and also doing my share of the proofing with deteriorating eyesight, is proving to be a challenge. Christ only knows what will happen when I try to record the audiobook.
♦♦♦
Mick Lynch will be one of the guests at my Edinburgh Fringe “All Talk” show this August. This is the third summer I’ve put on a show where each day I invite a political or media luminary to be lightly grilled before an enthusiastic audience. Last year I came under criticism for not skewering Nicola Sturgeon, which I felt misunderstood the point. Matt Forde has a similar format, performed in London with politicians from across the spectrum. Neither of us is looking for an onstage row with our guests or to be gratuitously rude to them. We both ask probing and difficult questions, but our aim is to allow the audience to get to know our guests in a unique, live and intimate atmosphere.
Putting together the guestlists for my 18 Edinburgh shows is like doing a jigsaw. This year I have lured Sturgeon again, as well as Humza Yousaf, Penny Mordaunt, Wes Streeting, Jeremy Corbyn and Len McCluskey (together), Ed Davey and Peter Tatchell, among others. I always get accused of a lack of political balance in these line-ups, but you can’t force people to attend, and leftish guests seem to be easier to attract than rightish ones. I’m not sure what that tells us.
