Just got back from the Hay-on-Wye Festival where I appeared to talk about being longlisted for the Guardian Children's Fiction Prize for The Knife of Never Letting Go.  I can make those links in my sleep by now...

I arrived just after a weekend of torrential rain, so it was pretty much a town full of human-sized dung beetles, pushing around giant balls of clay-coloured mud.  You could only walk on the wooden planking as none of the grassy areas were safe, most festival-goers were wearing wellies, and I even saw two chairs constructed from mud patties.

But the event was great fun.  A good audience with a very nice mixture of ages, asking smart questions about books and writing.  They even put up with my superfast approach to giving readings and some difficult acoustics.  What a nice thing is Hay-on-Wye, eh?  Even when it's mirroring the worst sumps of Glastonbury...