On Saturday, as rather a spontaneous decision unlike me, I decided to go to the Melbourne Writers Festival. So, I went to see Clive James and, in another session, Cory Doctorow speak on a panel.
I was quite excited, as the last time I went to the MWF was four years ago, when I was in the early stages of pregnancy with Keira, and it was all I could do to stop vomiting all over the floor in the middle of a Sophie Cunningham session. So, as you can understand, it wasn’t an entirely happy day for me.
Unlike yesterday. Clive James, as I expected, was urbane, fascinating, and charming. He covered a gamut of topics from his love of Albert Camus, to his disdain of JP Satre, to Nazi Germany, to his television shows, Katherine Hepburn and lots more. The session went over time, and I don’t think anyone wanted it to end!
Then I went to a session about Creative Commons and the state of copyright in this digital age. It was educational. I learned a lot I didn’t know before, and Cory Doctorow was a bit of a revelation. So intelligent. So well spoken. He owned that panel. People were nudging each other in the audience, impressed.
To top it off, it was a glorious day, and I fully enjoyed my walk back to the train station, in the middle of the city, watching the scullers row up the Yarra in their little toothpicks of privilege.
Marvellous.
Thanks to all you who commented yesterday. I will get around to responding to them later in the day when I have time.
