It's Justine Picardie here, sitting beside dovegreyreader in the sunlit walled garden of Port Eliot. She is far too modest to report back on her own excellent performance at the festival, but I am happy to tell you that she was as inspiring as always, and has consolidated her position as the best of bloggers (though of course, she has far more strings to her bow than blogging). As for the rest of the festival: well, it's unlike any other literary event you've ever been to. Merry go rounds and swimming in the estuary and moonwatching and singing doctors and fireworks (in daylight, quite oddly, but effective nonetheless) and girls dressed up in space age foil dresses designed by Barbara Hulanicki and Luella Bartley. I'm on at 5pm in the Round Room, talking about Daphne du Maurier, and my novel based on an event in her life 50 years ago, with Professor Helen Taylor, from Exeter University. Am feeling quite nervous, in case no one comes -- a bit like worrying half an hour before your party starts that you have no friends, and will have to eat all the crisps by yourself.
What else? Well, I'm looking forward to Rick Stroud doing a moonlit walk at 10.30 this evening. It rained yesterday, from time to time, but when I went to bed, in the early hours of morning, the sky was clear and filled with hundreds of stars.
Anyway, must rush as don't want to miss Will Fiennes doing his tree walk at the ha ha, which sadly clashes with Kathryn Williams down by the river. Must somehow be in two places at once; and if one were to find wings anywhere, it would be at Port Eliot.