The scourge of British transport systems

By the end of the festival over the weekend, I’d pretty much destroyed my voice. I began to wonder how people who have to talk – or even shout – for a living cope if they’re putting their voice under that much strain all day every day. Coming home took from 10am to 4pm. It’s not actually that far between Tring and Manchester but somehow the British transport system elongates everything, especially on Sunday. It takes less time, however, to get to Spain from here, especially if you ignore all the faffing around at airport security.

There is one thing in the world of which you must harbour grave fear and dread upon a journey to Britain. It has three words and is known as Replacement Bus Service. It means no trains, just buses. Big buses on small country lanes, driven by the guy from the Budweiser advert (“Wassuuuuuuup!”) constantly talking on his mobile to friends saying such reassuring things as “Wassup man? I got no idea where I am… I think I’m goin’ to Milton Keynes… Where the f*ck is Leyton Buzzard?”

I decided not to be terrified. I was too busy holding on to the seat in case I fell out of the window as we rolled around hairpin bends in a full-size coach. Another two women complained that they’d been put on the wrong bus. The conductor asked them if they knew the person who had instructed them to get on the bus had been a genuine employee of the rail service.

“But he had a clipboard!” exclaimed the woman.

“Ah, well,” replied the conductor. “But did he really check it?”

This was a frightening thought. There might be people out there, deliberately disguising themselves as rail service employees, even down to the regulation clipboard, misdirecting customers all over the place. Forcing them onto buses to Milton Keynes when they actually wanted to go to London Euston, or Northampton, or Manchester, even. It doesn’t bear thinking about. There was a time when clipboards were a sign of reliability – or a geographer on the loose. These days, you can’t trust anybody.

Train services in Britain have improved immensely in the last ten years, in the sense that they now run, and often even manage the ambitious achievement of doing so on time. Not so the train from Milton Keynes to Manchester, which was ten minutes late. People sat around talking to each other in low voices about how they were going to miss their connections to Edinburgh, Glasgow and elsewhere.

I was reminded of a line from Layer Cake, which at the time made me laugh out loud:

“I hate Britain. Not even the drug dealers work weekends.” The trains certainly don’t.

Now I know how abstract art feels

This is what happens to authors at conventions. We resemble the abstract New Art zone of a museum, or perhaps the “weird insect display” at a zoo. Sit behind our little tables, name-tagged and many with books pile up. Mostly there is nothing to do except talk to each other, as people pass by and make the same faces they make at abstract art. “What’s your book about?” or “What’s this?” in my case.

I couldn’t do it. I heard from a publisher at a literary festival this week who marvelled at authors sitting, like hamsters in cages behind their tables. It took only a second for me to realise I couldn’t spend my day in that manner. It’s not so much that I feel like the Tibetan bear at Chongqing Zoo, being stared at by strangers, but that whenever somebody does come to talk, I feel as though I should be filling in a vehicle licencing application form or similar. Quickly, I got up and disappeared elsewhere.

It’s nobody’s fault, of course. Maybe because we spend so much time sitting behind desks writing, it’s easy to imagine sitting behind a desk talking to people. But you can’t talk to somebody from behind a desk if they’re standing and you’re sitting, and you’re not filling in a DMV form, or perhaps telling them that their homework was a D- but you know they can do better. Thinking that I do much better on my feet, and without a large area of flat plastic between me and other people, I decided to try another tack.

The festival was split into two rooms – the games room upstairs and the authors downstairs, stormtroopers in between. It was a good day, and the organisers and done well getting it all set up. I spent most of the day upstairs, touring the games room and finding out about games, while passing out fliers to anybody who was interested in Amnar. I missed the Agent a little; his presence at the table would have added a bit more atmosphere while I was away.

Some of the authors said they couldn’t leave their tables for fear somebody might come along and buy. I wondered if you could take a second person to man the desk, or carry around stock behind you as you worked all the other rooms. I decided if I ever end up doing signings in Waterstones’ or Borders I’m going to get some kind of a stand, and sit on a stool so I can sign books but still be on a level with the readers. There’s something dreadfully ominous about having a reader standing over you.

Dan the Producer interviewed me on the day, and you can listen to that in Friday/Saturday’s podcast release. It was great fun and I notice that our downloads have pretty much doubled since I came home. I’d also like to say thanks to Mark and team for taking me out for great tapas the night before and to Frazer Lee for providing the entertainment and lunch.