Carrying on my take on events at the above festival. If you remember, I was hanging around in the bar of the Penzance Arts Club waiting for the lunch I had just ordered, along with another 50 people and of course, the one and only Patrick Gale.
Looking around the room, which had now been opened up to incorporate the bar area, the noise coming from the fifty or so people was incredible. Everyone appeared very happy and relaxed. I spotted Patrick (apologies for informality but as I have seven of his books I think I’m entitled!) surrounded by several women each trying to entertain him with her wit.
I was relaxing too and amused myself by critiquing the outfits being worn by both the men and women. Many were quite flamboyant, colourful flouncy pieces nudged the elbows of the simple chic, and current fashion stood alongside the resurrected vintage. From blue jeans to blue toe nails to silk jackets, everything went together. Chunky jewellery draped many a neck and wrist, wild hairstyles and scarves wrapped various parts of the body, and a few sets of red braces held up crumpled linen trousers; the latter being men.
I felt quite dowdy in my plain navy top and trousers with navy/white scarf completing the naval effect. I wanted to shout, ‘look at my shoes, they’re cherry pink! How many people are wearing cherry pink leather shoes today??’ I had bought them in a defiant mood on a certain birthday to ward off signs of ‘getting on’. But I didn’t shout and no one noticed.
Follow me tomorrow as lunch is served and Patrick speaks as we eat our crumble.
PP
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