Engleburt Bartfast Digs Some Dirt on the Stars at the Hay on Wye Festival Holly Howitt
Holly was seen at the Hay on Wye Festival wearing hotpants, knee length socks and a crop top. Some thought this was inappropriate garb for the festival, but I say, why not shake things up a bit – go for it girl! She is currently promoting her book, “Dinner Time”, a book of microfiction,
which, like the author herself, is slim to say the least. I read the entire book in around a quarter of an hour, and, like the Rubik’s Cube, people are setting records around the world to see who can read it in the quickest time. Someone on the Hay site is said to have read it in around 3.5 minutes, while there is a rumour that a guy in India has completed it in 18 seconds flat, with his feet.
Kate North
If there’s a literature degree to be had, it would seem Kate North has it. Sadly however, she still cannot write poetry. Her latest book, “Eva Shell”, a form of diary/novel type thing, is interesting in parts, again not a weighty tome, but the poetry in it is pretty awful. It’s written from the main character’s point of view, so of course, Kate can use the defence that it’s not her writing, it’s the character, and the character is meant to not be a very good poet. I find this argument a little weak however. Still, Kate’s a lovely person, and still has a big fat smile, like a baby who’s just
completed a hearty soup supper. Lloyd Robson
..Is about the closest thing Cardiff has to a celebrity writer. Like Robert Mitchum, who he has just released a book about, he’s a hard drinkin‘, pot smokin‘ ladies’ man, or so his book would have us believe. Forget “Chick Lit”, this is definitely a “Bloke Book”. I always thought of Lloyd as being quite a modest sort of chap, but in this book – a big fat thing (in this case, unlike the author) – he almost seems boastful of his life’s achievements. It doesn’t necessarily detract from the book’s quality, and perhaps Lloyd felt the need to laud himself up as a hero while writing about the man his dad idolised. Compared to a book like W H Davies’s “Autobiography of a Super Tramp”, where the author is modesty itself, but still makes everything he does sound pretty exciting, you just feel he might be overdoing it very slightly, however.
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