Accosted by a homeless and hungry young man when passing the Spiegeltent, temporary home to fine dining hereabouts, I paused to listen to the verses he had just composed - writing them as a message on his mobile phone. I was, he said, the first to be willing to pay for the privilege of his personal poetry recital. Truer to the spirit of a festival of literature than most of the events-in-the-tents you pay much more dearly to attend, I reflected.
The tented village seems to have survived the strong winds better than our fence: it blew down in the night, so this morning was spent with extension leads, electric drill and screwdriver to hand. Amazingly, I found in the shed just the right length of wood to patch it up with. Should hold it together for a while, anyway, and may even see us out.
"Truth and uncertainty" - part of yesterday's religion thread - was the title of the only event I have attended since Tuesday, with four believers and one humanist on the stage. "Everybody has been very nice," said one member of the audience given the mike and a chance to comment. Tom McLeish explained why: "Christianity, as St Paul says, is about healing broken relationships."
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