Author-ity goes too far

Sunday Herald, The, Aug 17, 2003 by Alan Taylor's Diary

CATHERINE Lockerbie, chatelaine of Charlotte Square, official residence not only of Jack 'BFG' McConnell but also the Edinburgh International Book Festival, issues strict instructions to those of us charged with chairing events. The list of dos and donts is formidable and non-negotiable. First, we must introduce ourselves then our guests. Plenty of time must be left for the audience to ask questions. Sessions are scheduled to last an hour. Over-running is an offence comparable only to James Naughtie crashing the pips on the Today programme. And woe betide the chairperson who neglects to direct the audience to the signing tent. Trust me, even Paxman would buckle under the pressure.

Of course, writers being writers, not everything goes according to plan. Some authors, perhaps anticipating a less than fulsome introduction, opt at the last minute to do the honours themselves. Then there are those, such as Booker Prize winner Ben Okri, who think twenty minutes is a sufficient contribution for seven quid. In contrast, there was Paolo Coelho, who until JK came along was the bestselling novelist anywhere. Signor Coelho sincerely apologised because his publisher had only allowed him an hour to sign books. Of course, as befits an international phenomoneon, it was wholly inadequate.

Hanging with the write crowd

IT was my pleasure to introduce Tama Janowitz, who is used to hanging out with the likes of Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger and Madonna. Need one say more? When I last saw Ms Janowitz, in a howff in New York's Chinatown, she was dressed soberly in jeans and T-shirt. I took this as my cue and wore a suit, since, astonishingly, Ms Lockerbie does not seem to have a dress code. In any case, in my experience authors tend not to dress exceptionally, a rare exception being the licentious poet Fiona Pitt-Kethley, who once turned up for a lunchtime reading in her nightie. Mercifully, it was not a baby- doll.

What can one say about Ms Janowitz? To say that she had made a bit of an effort is something of understatement. On her head, she wore a Napoleon hat, on her feet, Ali Baba shoes. In between, she donned pantaloons and a cloak of many colours. A snapper, who has hitherto shown no interest in fashion, said she looked like Cap'n Pugwash. You may judge for yourselves [see pic].

By way of explanation, Ms Janowitz said there are two of her. One is a conservative mum with a seven-year-old daughter, a husband who golfs and four ferrets; the other is a shameless extrovert. In the mirror, the one did not recognise the other. I sympathise with both.

An Oxford education - best Bar none

AFTER the event, Ms Janowitz and a few groupies repaired to the Oxford Bar, Edinburgh's idea of Studio 54, now famous as the watering- hole of Ian Rankin's hardboiled cop, Rebus. Alas, Mr Rankin was not himself in residence, but the Oxford Bar's regulars welcomed Ms Janowitz with open arms - literally, in some cases. Not for nothing is it known as "a Scout hut for the over 30's".

Though it has not changed physically over the years the Oxford has become worryingly welcoming. In another century, under the ownership of the late Willie Ross, women, Englishmen and lager drinkers were banned, the latter because they were "poofs". Moreover, you dared to order a half pint only if you wanted to be consigned to alcoholic Siberia. Indeed, Mr Ross often ejected people for no good reason other than the fact that he did not like the cut of their jib.

Food did not feature on the bill of fare. Anyone naive enough to enquire what was on the menu, or request a packet of crisps or peanuts or, heaven forfend, a pie, was taken outside and told to read the sign, which simply said "Oxford Bar". "So where the f***," asked Willie, "does it say 'restaurant'?"

Glorious food, there's nothing quite like it

THESE days, the Oxford, without wholeheartedly embracing the Gordon Ramsay revolution, does offer food. Ms Janowitz, who was so hungry she could have eaten deep-fried ferret, spied what looked like an edible object in the hot cabinet and was intent on investigating further until she was told it was a Scotch egg as ancient as Skara Brae. At which point, I recalled Sidney Goodsir Smith's remark about the Oxford. "It is the only pub I have known," he said, "with an emergency entrance." Now, you don't even need to go there to appreciate its charm. Its website - www.oxfordbar.com - offers a virtual tour. Mr Ross, I suppose, must be birling in his grave.

A Liz, Smith and James Participating in a quiz at the Edinburgh Book Festival with Liz Lochhead, Ali Smith and Clive James, I learned a useful new word which should be engraved on the hearts of all Fringe reviewers. "Ultracrepidate" - according to Chambers' peerless dictionary - means "to criticise beyond the sphere of one's knowledge".

Big song and dance about nothing

IN my humble opinion, it is hard to see why Scottish Opera wanting more money is front page news. On the other hand, if it was to announce that it was no longer interested in bleeding dry the arts purse that would be truly sensational. It was unfortunate, too, that the company made its annual plea for more cash the same week that just 237 people under the age of 26 took up its Gotterdammerung free ticket offer. This attempt to woo the youth audience has produced some interesting, if not to say patronising, responses. It may be that many youths spend more hours than they should glued to the box or mesmerised by their Playstations. Not all are, however, as anyone who has visited Edinburgh en fete will testify. Create the right atmosphere and the crowds will come, irrespective of age. SO and the International Festival should not be cowed by their attempts. With every festival breaking box office records and more shows sold out than ever before, they should try again next year with unquenched conviction.