Yesterday, I was up early to catch a sneak preview of Matthew Vaughn's highly anticipated film, Stardust. It looks fantastic, like a cross between Harry Potter and Gormenghast. Neil Gaiman, who wrote the book, was immediately besieged by autograph hounds clutching their copies of Sandman.
Today is the last day of the festival and I am up at the crack of dawn again to meet Jon Savage, rock journalist extraordinaire. When I told Jon that I've met tons of young rock journalists who try to write like him, he purred, "Nobody can do that."
In the green room, Savage ran into Baron Matthew Evans, who was hurriedly making notes for his upcoming talk with Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler.
"I don't know anything about him, apart from the music. Tell me, who was in the Yardbirds?" asked Evans.
"It was Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck. Jeff Beck as in 'Hi Ho Silver Lining'," said Savage.
I got up briefly, and the conversation had turned to shagging when I returned. "Brian Eno...?", asked Evans.
"Big shagmeister. Infamous." said Savage matter-of-factly.
In the audience for Jon's talk is James Truman, the former editorial director of Condé Nast and a familiar face from my hometown of New York. As ever, he is charming (after all, he had to work with all those fashionistas and Conde Nasties for years) and tells me that he has moved back to New York. When I tell him that I have been chasing an interview with Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler, he smiles. "Good luck, he's, um, taciturn," he says.
As last nights go, this one is very special as this has been the 20th Hay festival. To go out in style, the organisers have booked Bryn Terfel and the Sultan of Swing to take down the roof of the Barclays Wealth Tent.
Luckily, I have a ticket to the Sky Arts studio taping this afternoon and Mariella Frostrup will be interviewing Knopfler. He plays a lovely acoustic version of "Secondary Waltz" and is in good voice. When the taping finishes, I notice a group of young boys, all dressed in red Dire Straits t-shirts and headbands. They are fans, then.
I manage to get a couple of vital words from Knopfler, before being edged away by a large, bald minder. I think James's description—"taciturn"—is right on the money (for nothing).
At Knopfler's much-anticipated gig that evening, I realise that I am seated two rows behind Bruce Robinson, who I saw earlier this morning. He is trying to quit smoking, which is more difficult now that he is in the throes of preparing his new film of the Hunter Thompson novel, The Rum Diary, with Johnny Depp.
I first met Bruce at the start of the Iraq war, when we spoke about his Oscar-winning The Killing Fields. At the time, he was incensed about the war—now, he is sadly resigned to a "debacle that will last my childrens' lifetimes."
Thursday 31st May 2007
The Hay organisers should do a book about their own stewards. After all, they are the gatekeepers to the tents, and the people who see and hear everything that goes on at the festival. While I was waiting for David de Rothschild's talk, I was told that Van Morrison "upset some people. He wanted us to keep the crowd out while he sat in the back drinking lager. He kept all those people waiting, can you imagine!"
Tall, tanned and long-haired, David de Rothschild looked like a rock star. His project, Adventure Ecology, uses gaming technology to engage young people on environmental issues. On the AE website, kids can chat with ecologists in the field and learn about natural resources. Rothschild is a self-confessed optimist who says that young people have some great ideas. More intriguing is his idea that there are "hope spots" in the world, places which we haven't yet screwed up.
At the Artists & Sponsors garden behind Ascari's Café, I asked him if he found it a struggle to educate young people. Surely it must be hard to talk to them about recycling, when they are constantly being bombarded with advertising?
"It's about being strategic. We have to show big business that they don't have to do that. For example, Wal-Mart has had to start demanding change from its suppliers—that will impact the entire supply chain. No one wants to be a polluter these days," he said.
Suddenly, there was a flurry at the table as Rothschild's friends hastened to find a chair for a hot and exhausted Alex James. Now married and a father of three, the Blur bassist has kept his trademark fringe and makes cheese in the Cotswolds.
After lunch, I entered the cool shade of a Hay tent to find out more and was joined by James's old friend Lucy Yeomans, the editor of Harper's Bazaar. Waving away a panicked Hay staffer, James lit up the first of many cigarettes as he spoke to the Guardian's John Harris about his wild past with Blur, Britpop and Labour.
"The Labour party figured out that people who listened to Blur didn't vote, but if they did, they'd vote for Labour," he explained. Although Blur found it "incredibly flattering" to be courted by Tony Blair, the band soon discovered Blair's treacherous side when Oasis's Noel Gallagher publicly wished Aids on them. "It was really weird, because then we saw Tony Blair with a grin on his face, shaking Noel's hand."
There was talk of Blur going back into the studio later this year, and, of course, James's pride and joy, pickled cheese. This, he hopes, will win a medal when he enters it into the "Cheese of the Year" awards next month.
Flicking the fringe out of his eyes, he exhaled some smoke and explained about the cheese/rock-star/Cotswold farm thing: "I'm trapped inside a cliché, so I might as well make the most of it."
Wednesday 30th May 2007
Look out at any Hay audience and you see a sea of grey hair. Most literary fans are in their fifties or sixties, so it was something of a surprise to see a procession of Bright Young Things in their colourful festival wellies at Ed Miliband's talk.
Ed, the self-described "less famous brother" of Labour's young star David, is the brainy economist whose talent has impressed Gordon Brown.
"You know how there's always one guy in your company who can always 'do'? Well, that's David. But Ed is really sharp and the guy you go to for the answers," says one of his former treasury colleagues.
As he walks around the eco-stalls at Hay, the younger Miliband seems an unlikely politician. In his neatly pressed but paint-spattered blue trousers, he looks like a scientist or mathematician who has just popped out for walk after painting his flat.
What most people don't know about the Doncaster North MP is that the young just love him. At his talk with Richard Sennett, he modestly attributed most of the applause to his colleague's comments, but his forthright manner was clearly a hit with an audience more used to Glastonbury than party conferences.
When I point this out to him afterwards, he says, "It's partly about a style of politics. I think what people want—and young people in particular—is a more honest, candid style of politics, whereby you engage with people on the issues and don't dodge the difficult questions.
"You admit when you don't know the answer, you admit that the answers are difficult. You have to have the humility that some of those phenomena [the work-related issues that were discussed in his talk] are beyond the reach of what government can do," he said.
Ed is a big fan of technology, which he sees as a way of "rekindling" political discussion. At the talk, members of his staff handed out flyers for the Left Book Club—"a renewal of the original 1930s and 1940s club made famous by George Orwell," which promises progressive book reviews and comments from top political analysts.
We discuss the chancellor's talk of consultation, which he believes will work if it is "meaningful." He adds, "Consultation papers are good for an elite, but they're not good for large numbers of people who are not going to engage with long consultation papers issued from Whitehall."
He feels that he has learned a lot in his ten years of politics and says that politicians need to engage voters in a more "mature" fashion.
"I feel both more realistic than I was ten years ago before we came into government about what government can achieve, but in way more optimistic. More realistic in that change takes much longer than you'd think, but more optimistic in that the political arguments in Britain have changed in a more positive way," he says. In particular, he is especially hopeful about the environmental and anti-poverty debates today.
There are also advantages to being a lesser-known brother, who can learn from his "best friend" in politics. But politically, his relationships with David and the chancellor have their pluses and minuses.
"I face a number of challenges, because I've worked for Gordon Brown and it is a challenge to build your own identity when you've worked for someone with such a big stature. I have a challenge in relation to my brother. But I relish these challenges. You have to have your own style, and people have to like it or don't so that's for other people to judge."
As he discusses the possibility of going to an event with the musician Robert Wyatt, I notice plenty of grey heads turning at the sight of this earnest politician in conversation with his young aides.
Later, a pretty young Hay staffer at the Friends Bar asks if it was Ed Miliband that she saw me talking to.
"He's so cute—much cuter than David," she giggles. I laugh too, thinking how David's "less famous" sibling would blush if he heard her.
Tuesday 29th May 2007
For obvious reasons, the warmest place at Hay is the Green Room, where speakers can relax on the leather sofas and bask in the warmth of industrial-size heaters. If you are lucky enough to be invited for a sandwich and drink, you might spot Nick Broomfield or John Mortimer in conversation. It's a little like what I always imagined heaven would be like for famous people: there's Voltaire having a pint with William Faulkner, or John Lennon jamming with Jimi Hendrix.
Thanks to Ed Miliband's kindness, I got to spend 15 minutes on a Green Room sofa. Eric Hobsbawm sat next to me as he read the Times and munched on a tuna sandwich. On 9th June, he will be celebrating his 90th birthday.
Next to me was Miliband, who will be attending Hobsbawm's birthday party. He was chatting excitedly with Richard Sennett, the American sociologist who has been studying working habits. "Maybe we should write it up together," he said to Sennett.
"It" refers to the results of a fascinating conversation on work and public service that Sennett and Miliband had earlier. Sennett's comments on work and career in the 21st century clearly struck a chord with audience members, who applauded his every utterance. The professor spoke about what it's like to work in the 21st century. Apart from working for the cash machine, it's "harder for people to see a forward trajectory" in our careers when employers no longer offer job security.
For commitment-phobes, Sennett has the perfect response to those awkward turkey-dinner questions from relatives at Christmas: "The economy doesn't make it easy for [people] to settle down."
Monday 28th May 2007
On a beautiful sunny day, what could be better than sitting out on the lawn at Hay? In my imagination, I always imagined that I would be sitting under one of those quaint umbrella-ed tables, blogging away. The sun would be shining, the green grass would be gently rippling in the breeze and my wireless connection would be at full strength...
But it was too cold, so I legged it instead to hear Vivienne Westwood's "cultural manifesto" at the ominously named Barclays Wealth Tent. "All the big 'uns are here, love," said the steward, with a wink.
While a crowd of fashion lovers waited for their favorite designer, I spotted Dame Vivienne's husband, Andreas Kronthaler, in the front row.
When the speaker arrived, she looked great. She began reading her photocopied "manifesto" ("the future depends on art," she told us) in her girlish voice, and I sat back, expecting a cool piece of punk poetry, I thought.
Instead, I got lost. I couldn't work out why Pinocchio the Freedom Fighter would want to wank inside a dustbin and what he said to Aristotle and Socrates. People around me began rolling their eyes,and a guy walked out ostentatiously, yawning.
"I stay up all night and work out all sorts of things," Dame Vivienne told Diana Quick. "Culture has been hijacked and now it's become all about business," she declared.
The Hay crowd tittered audibly when she told Quick that "people don't read any more." "Yes, they DO read," replied Quick sternly.
Apart from the expected designer utterances ("I don't have time to understand or be interested in the world" and "Human beings have never looked more horrible than they do now—if people don't look great, I don't notice them"), it was baffling.
I looked horrible—my shoes were muddy, and I was swaddled in layers of clothing. Westwood wasn't going to notice me, but I wanted to ask her anyway what it all meant. Was this a call to arms against commercialism?
At least she gave the crowd something to talk about. As I left the tent and tiptoed across the mud, it was clear that no one got it either. "If it is a joke, then she must be pissing herself laughing backstage," said a purple-haired girl. A large man, grabbing his two young daughters, charged ahead of me in a huff. "That was like watching a car crash," he grunted.
When the sun peeked through for about an hour the other day and there was a rush on at the ice cream stall, I ran out on to the lawn with my laptop and plonked myself on a table. Next to me was a very large pig (Gloucester Old Spot, I think) who was being filmed for television. She was amiable, despite the many efforts made by a group of toddlers to climb—SAS-style—into her pen.
When I reached the lawn, I noticed that my pig was gone. She had sensibly gone home, leaving me with nothing but thoughts of Vivienne Westwood's pearls—and swine.
Sunday 27th May 2007
It hasn't stopped raining since Gordon Brown's visit to Hay last night. And overnight, it has become cold. Really cold.
But luckily for Mohsin Hamid, he and his wife will be flying off to Australia. The author of The Reluctant Fundamentalist has just been in Dallas on a promotional tour. "Can you imagine—a Pakistani Muslim author talking to a bunch of Texans?" he chuckled. "But I was pleasantly surprised; they were really switched on and engaged."
With the cold and the torrential rain, moving around the Hay's intricate system of walkways and unheated tents becomes incredibly difficult. As people stomp along the walkways, a curious white foam develops on the carpets—this, I am told, is some sort of disinfectant.
After what seemed to be a lifetime waiting for Neil MacGregor's talk—in which he compares the British Museum to Tristram Shandy—we are finally ushered into a freezing tent that sways in the wind. "We're not having heaters because of the carbon emissions," a steward says cheerfully.
Tonight's biggest challenge—apart from keeping warm—is figuring out the best way to get to the Sky party. Although everyone swears that it is within walking distance, Multimap says otherwise so I enlist the help of my friends Susie and David. We pile into their rented car and, after getting lost, pull into a long, narrow driveway. After spending an entire day camping in the rain and cold at Hay, we are looking forward to spending time inside an actual building.
But at the end of the driveway is a giant geodome—and a tented cloakroom. The staffers, who kindly escort us past potholes in the mud, swear that the geodome is heated and "very warm."
Well, it was warmish. The buffet was lovely, and there was a charming troupe of ballet dancers who entertained. Andrew Davies was there, and Mariella Frostrup gave the dancers a round of applause. At around midnight, more people turned up and the place became distinctly warmer.
As I collected my coat, I noticed that the three children who were working behind the counter were almost blue from cold. There was no heat and—when I asked—food for them.
Luckily, I was not the only one to notice that they had been neglected. Soon, plates of food and drink were being ferried into their tent by compassionate party guests. It all got very merry, and I discovered the next morning that some guests stayed on until 4am—and walked all the way home in the rain.
Saturday 26th May 2007
Here in the Welsh mountains, no one can hear you scream... into a phone that is. Like unpredictable weather and those ticket queues, a non-existent mobile signal is another quirk of the Hay festival. Move one way and you'll have one; take another step and it's gone.
But people come to Hay to spot famous authors, not talk on the phone. A brisk walk into town yielded two sightings: Wole Soyinka examining the tourist brochures in the lobby of the Swan Hotel and a Jeanette Winterson-lookalike carrying flowers.
Andrew Davies gave his audience a sneak preview tape of his new Sense and Sensibility, which he had brought with him in one of those black carrier bags you get from post-production houses. Actor Dan Stevens, who starred in Davies's adaptation of The Line of Beauty, was waiting outside to say hello.
The real celebrity of the day—whether he liked it or not—was Gordon Brown. He was late, of course. The Guardian, official sponsors of the festival, had laid on their version of a red carpet in the form of an old Routemaster. This was parked on a scruffy plot of grass next to the BBC Wales tent, and the plan was for the chancellor (who was emphatically not doing any interviews) to pose for pictures in it. The great and the good—but not the press—had been invited for drinks in this curious garden, and a PR girl was stationed at the entrance to keep out the riff-raff. "Since when has Hay become all about velvet rope?" complained one passer-by.
But it was the Guardian's party and they could blog it if they wanted to. Inside the bus, three stony-faced guys typed away silently while security guys stood nearby and Ed Miliband chatted to authors.
When the chancellor finally turned up to talk about his new book on courage, he had to shout over the noise of a torrential downpour. He was relaxed, wore no tie and made jokes (about Ronald Reagan, the untidiness of his study). Although he was supposed to be talking about his book on eight courageous heroes, Mariella Frostrup skilfully steered the conversation towards politics. He spoke a lot about consulting the people.
At dinner, my companions were talking about rumours that the Brown camp had been upset by a story Damian McBride allegedly leaked to Sky News. "Well, it seems that Gordon has been having private talks with Madeleine McCann's family about their situation, because he was concerned. He doesn't want it to be publicised because then it would look like he's grandstanding," said one woman.
