Me, myself, I

So I was going up to London for the Stoke Newington Literary Festival. So I spoke to my oldest bestest friend Jane.
‘Um, I’m coming up to London next weekend…’  Pause.  ‘Could I?’
Pause. ‘Damn. I’m going to Istanbul.’ 
‘Oh.’  Remembered my manners quickly.  ‘How lovely.’
But really. Damn, damn, damn.
‘Never mind. I can crash somewhere else, no problem.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll put the keys in the post.’
Oh my.

So there I was, in London, solo, for the weekend.  It was like being in my 20s again. I had the keys to the castle - a flat of my own, albeit borrowed. 

Now, let’s get this totally in context.  This is not some cruddy old flat.  Jane’s place is tucked away down a leafy street behind Essex Road.  It’s the bottom half of a Victorian house so I suppose it’s not really a flat per se, but let’s call it that for the sake of argument (and because the word maisonette sounds unpleasant – frankly anything that ends –ette always sounds a bit dodgy and smacks of “feminine hygiene” to me, but that could just be me.) Actually I don’t like the word ‘flat’ either but…

Anyhow, this is a clean, pristine flat. It is a flat that is not covered in dog-hair; a flat that does not have partying ‘energies’ on the stairs; a flat that has nice normal rooms, not spaces that deserve labels like ‘doom’ and ‘despond’.   I walked in, kicked off my flipflops and just sighed with total utter decadent pleasure.

There were flowers.  There was a lingering scent of Jo Malone rather than the stench of stale dog sick, fetid trainers and damp.  I dumped my bag in the bedroom and threw myself onto the big wide bed with its fresh white Egyptian cotton sheets and – oh oh oh – its memory mattress.  The silence was intoxicating.

I padded upstairs into the open-plan kitchen, living room area and flung open the tall wide windows.  Sunlight streamed through and tickled my toes.  Opened the fridge and, bless her soul, Jane had left me a whole shelf of veggie heaven (falafel, dolmades, halloumi, veg curry, various types of tofu).  Smoked tofu with almonds and wild garlic? Basil tofu? Seriously? 

Jane has the soundtrack of our shared past pretty well covered and so pretty soon I was trying to decide between The Cure, Bruce or Kate Bush. Shuddered a little over David Cassidy (no, I never did, nor Donny Osmond FFS); The Specials (did, but only live – they were cracking live); The Smiths (don’t get me started). 

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my family, I really do, and I even have a sneaking softness for the Bonkers House. I do love Dulverton too.  But, but, but…sometimes it’s just lovely to be me.  Just me.  Not a mother, not a wife, not someone trying to juggle a gazillion balls at once.  No responsibility. Nobody to please. Nothing that has to be done.  A holiday from life, from reality.  You know what I mean, don’t you?  If you don’t, I’ll take it you don’t have children – or are male.

So I put the music up high. Had a long hot shower (without anyone yelling that they needed this or had I seen that?). I did my tarot.- and, frankly, didn't believe it.  Made a pot of coffee. Stretched out on the sofa, wiggled my toes and just sighed with pleasure. 

Stoke Newington Literary Festival

Stoke Newington.  A chunk of my past I’m set to revisit next weekend.  I lived there 20 years ago, in the sweetest house tucked away down a side-street, nearly backing onto Abney Park cemetery (one of the great Victorian graveyards of London).  I loved that house. Loved Stokey.  Crazy happy days.

Anyhow, some good friends still live there and one of them, the lovely Liz, launched the Stoke Newington Literary Festival last year. It was, to put it mildly, a resounding success.

"A literary festival that's thrown its pretensions in a skip" The Londonist

"The coolest literary festival of the summer" Authonomy (eh, what?)

So, year one was fabulous but year two looks like it’s going to be even bigger and better.  Hence I’m hoiking myself up to London again and taking myself for a trip down memory lane.  Past the pub  that banned me (totally unfair – case of mistaken identity); past the flat I used to visit on my astral travels; through the cemetery where I wafted with bits of old lace tangled through my white haystack of hair…

But don’t let the idea of my old mad molecules still floating round there put you off.  Stokey is a fab place – a little hidden village in inner city London.  It revels in a rich literary heritage and if gothic, supernatural, ghostly and horrific rocks your boat, you simply cannot afford not to go.  But don't take my word for it: here’s the blurb.

“2011 is the second Stoke Newington Literary Festival, created to celebrate the area's long and influential literary history and to keep the spirit of radical thinking, debating and story-telling alive.

This year, we'll be shining the spotlight on some of the people that have helped put Stoke Newington on the cultural map, in particular Edgar Allen Poe and Mary Wollestonecraft. We'll also be bringing you some of the UK's most exciting debut novelists, a superb line-up of poets who'll be popping up at events throughout the weekend as well as a programme that covers ska, dissent, cycling, punk, gangs and ghosts.”

There are loads of events and it most certainly isn’t Poe-faced (sorry, that was unforgiveable) – there’s tons for children (from age 3 upwards) so if you want your children to love books, this could be a way to lure them in.  I’m going to as many events as I can squeeze into one weekend without going word-blind but, in particular, I’m looking forward to meeting some of my online friends who’re doing a gig on Saturday – The New Libertines at the Baby Bathhouse at 4pm. 

Check out the programme.  Book some tickets (but hurry, they're selling out fast).  Come and tap me on the shoulder (just be warned, the waist-length white hair has gone – and thank feck for that!).

A few highlights (well, the ones I like):

Friday 3^rd June: 2pm: Chainsaw Gang – have modern vampires lost their bite? Four rising children’s horror authors bite, snarl and growl.  12+ (unless accompanied by brave adult)

2pm: Arsenal Story Telling Event – er, right…”fun football stories, games and riddle” – fun and football don’t sit happily together in my lexicon but hey ho…might encourage reluctant readers. 6-12 years.

4pm: In Conversation with David Walliams.  ‘nuff said.  Except I didn’t know he wrote children’s books.  Family event.

8pm: The Life and Works of Alexander Baron – his cult novel about the London underworld, The Lowlife, is considered a major antecedent to punk.

Saturday 4^th June: 10am – Dr Seuss event.  Including a visit from the Cat in the Hat. 5-8 years.

3.30pm: The Life and Influence of Edgar Allan Poe – Poe lived in Stoke Newington and a panel discuss his work before Steven Berkoff discusses his own adaption of The Tell Tale Heart.

Sunday 5^th June: 1pm: Pete Brown’s Beer and Book matching – what ale should you read while drinking Dostoevsky?  Pete’s a good bloke – this should be a cracker.