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This year’s Hay Lit Fest – one of my favourite events – has flowered as never before. Seduced by a full-on sun from dawn to dusk over the weekend, the punters have flocked in. After the utter drenching of last year’s festival, and wary of the effects of the recession on the bibliophilic public, Peter Florence and his dedicated gang of supporters took the decision to remove one venue and to reduce ticket prices. As it happens, last year they lost one tented stage to the torrents anyway, when it became instead a muddy tented swimming pool.

The result of the price cut has been that show after show has been selling out and the whole place is seething with thousands of people cramming walkways resounding with cries of ‘Sorry! So sorry!’ as they cannon into one another or splodge their neighbours with Shepherds ewes’ milk ice-cream.

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