The First Ever Stoke Newington Literary Festival

I was here for the first ever Stoke Newington Literary Festival. They've been heavily promoting themselves via Twitter and a glance at their website revealed an impressive line up. (No children's authors - more on that later.) Every one of my friends seemed to be departing London for the weekend, so I decided to go alone. I'm glad I did now. I didn't have to worry if anyone else was enjoying themselves, and it only mattered to me when my trek to the box office revealed that the people staffing it had long deserted their post. 'They've gone,' a librarian succinctly informed me. Okay. I'll just mosie on to the first event sans ticket.

Back down the length of Church Street to the Lemon Monkey, a lovely vegetarian cafe, to see Sam Taylor talk about her novel, East of Islington. The novel is based on humorous columns she's written for The Oldie about her life and friends in Stoke Newington. I read this column for years as a subscriber to The Oldie (best and most radical magazine in the world?). I have a connection of my own with Richard Ingram's magazine - I once commissioned Nick Parker, then production manager on The Oldie, to write Toast - Homage to a Superfood. That was a wonderful book experience, first germinated over a pint in a pub. The best way to chat to authors, in my opinion.

I digress. Back to Sam! And here she is (stage left), with a charming volunteer, Rebecca, who was hosting the event:

Rebecca was nervous, the lovely women on the door in their pink festival T-shirts were nervous, Sam looked nervous - I was nervous for everyone. But Sam's friends had turned up in force, along with a decent gathering of us middle-class bookie types, and we all enjoyed Sam's readings and the question and answer session afterwards. I liked her thoughts on Stoke Newington: that its radical vibe is still safe because of the lack of a tube station, and that it's a much more interesting place than its neighbour, Islington, because it can still be random. I like that word.

I did have to fight the urge to shake things up a bit at the end of the session, when Rebecca totally failed to plug Sam's book. I left having no idea who the publisher was, what the publication date was, if a follow-up was planned. But baby steps, baby steps... One day I may fondly look back on memories of the first ever Stokey Lit Festival. Ah, those were the days. So naive, that they didn't even plug the book properly. Of course, it's all corporate sponsorship and portaloos now.

I then strolled in the sunshine back down Church Street to the Stoke Newington Assembly Rooms for a talk on crime fiction entitled 'Murder in the Town Hall'. This was a four-author event with Toby Litt, Louise Welsh, Mark Billingham and Dreda Say Mitchell. Am I allowed to have a favourite author? Should I reveal such bias? Oh, sod it - I loved Dreda. From the moment she walked on stage with a huge grin, to her reading of an extract from what sounded like a brilliantly edgy and accessible book, to her fabulous stage confidence. She's an ex-teacher and it shows. There's a woman who could have a morning assembly eating out of the palm of her hand. Again I had to fight an urge: to sidle up to the edge of the stage afterwards and ask, 'Ever thought about writing someYA?'

But the event had started late and a snatched look at my watch revealed it was time to go. I left, sadly, during the Q&A session to walk to Clapton rail station. I did a lot of walking yesterday, but it was so balmy that it was a real treat. A ragged line of women in saris watched from a council estate balcony as I strolled past. A corner pub blared live music. My iPhone's battery died. What, no mobile phone?! I was obliged to gaze around me, rather than peer at the Google map route on my tiny screen. It was the perfect end to an almost perfect literary festival experience. Why almost perfect, Karen? Well, there weren't any children's authors in attendance. Come on, Stokey! All those young, groovy parents in the vicinity? It would go down a storm! Must. Resist. Urge. To. Volunteer...

Thanks, Stokey!

Tea Set. Another urge I fought: to take this home with me.