#man I loved hay on wye but I will say. I did not get the sense that the uk has the indie shop branded bookmark trend. and I missed it.

[essektheylyss]

Also the bookmark poll just reminded me that I got my spouse two books for Christmas but I bought them while out shopping with the friend we were staying with in New England, and the only reasonable bookstore to get to was Barnes and Noble, and I forgot to take out the little "Join our rewards club!" slip from the receipt they'd tucked into the book, so he opens it up to read it and went, "GASP. You went to Barnes and Noble? BETRAYAL."

This is how genuinely ride or die my household is for indie bookstores.

[droppingplanets]

An Unconventional Double-Decker Bus

AO3 FanFiction.Net

“Bugger it all.”

For what seemed like the millionth time in a period of half an hour, James Potter���s laptop had crashed again. He stared at the black screen, trying his hardest to prevent himself from assaulting the aggravating hunk of metal positioned on his lap. Becoming acutely aware of how pathetic he looked, he shoved the laptop aside with an almost commendable amount of self-control.

Need some air. James made up his mind. To hell with his homework, he’d find some bullshit excuse for McGonagall the next day. Of course, there was very little chance that she’d actually believe him; the one month he’d spent at King’s College London had given him and his strict Comparative Literature professor plenty of opportunity to get to know one another. James had come to the conclusion that it would take slightly more time than usual to win her over.

As he headed to the door of his small but oddly comforting dorm room, a thought struck him. Should I call Sirius?

Sirius Black was young and attractive, and not much else. Or at least so he’d immediately assumed. Until the night Sirius stumbled piss drunk into the room shared by James and Remus Lupin – a quiet, yet oddly commanding design student in his first year. It was when Sirius embarked on a rant about the finer points of classical Greek philosophy that James knew there was something extremely odd about this bloke. One thing led to another, and in a matter of ten minutes, James was almost at the same levels of intoxication as his new best friend, while Remus tried to engage Sirius in a political debate. After that night, James believed he had found a soulmate in Sirius – er, well, a soulmate of sorts. He was still the most annoying person in the entirety of London, as far as James was concerned, yet somehow, his cat had immediately taken to him. Remus wasn’t too bad either.

Despite his newfound camaraderie, he decided against inviting Sirius. He wanted to be alone right now (read: he wanted to go off and sulk under a tree). And if nothing came of that, he’d go crash Remus’s date, which led him to wonder. Who in their right mind would go on a date on a bloody Wednesday afternoon?

James locked the door behind him and set off for his adventure. Some adventure, he reflected. Taking long strides, he was out the door of Moonraker Point – which apparently the name of the building that served as accommodation for KCL students – before he knew it. Oh, this felt so much better. Countless hours spent in front of a laptop hammering away essays was no way to spend the day.

Spotting a nice-looking tree in the distance, he grinned. Beautiful. What a majestic sight it was. Knowing that he and the tree were destined to meet, he broke into a slight jog and started heading towards it. That’s when he saw a flash of red – the brightest red he had ever seen–

CRASH.

As James lay on the ground, he wondered about the nature of this mighty red beast that had come in his path. No doubt, it was a ferocious monster of some sort, and now there would be a battle.

Wait.

Not a monster.

A rather angry-looking girl with red hair was dusting herself off, two inches across from him. James perked up, despite the throbbing he felt in his arse. He knew exactly who this was.

“Rhododendron!” he exclaimed with pleasure.

The girl looked angrier now. “It’s Lily, thank you very much,” she said, focusing her glare on him.

“Oh, of course. Lily. Yes. Lily. How could I forget?” He pushed himself off the ground. He’d encountered Lily Evans once before, when he’d nearly set her backpack on fire. Holding out a hand to her, he smiled at her vaguely apologetically – at least, he hoped it was apologetic. It seemed to work, however, as her eyes softened and she used the support to help herself off the ground.

“You’re very destructive, you know that, Potter?” she sighed.

He had to admit that he was, as he thought back to the several fires he had inadvertently started over the course of his seventeen years. Of course, he did have an ego to protect.

“You should meet my cat,” he said. He missed Juniper. He only saw her on the weekends when he went home, although he was secretly plotting to kidnap her and bring her into his dorm room.

“I don’t like cats,” said Evans. James gasped. Who didn’t like cats?

“That’s outrageous. Everyone likes cats,” he said confidently.

“Yes, well, not me.”

“You’re a bit mad, then, aren’t you, Evans?”

“Says the bloke who started a fire in McGonagall’s class,” she shot back. He grimaced. That hadn’t been one of his finer moments.

“I’ll have you know that the ancient Persians worshipped fire!”

“Sorry to break it to you, but this isn’t ancient Persia.”

“I ruddy well wish it was,” he grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re so odd, Potter, do you know that?” James said nothing.

“Do us all a favour and keep your destructive tendencies to yourself, yeah?” she said, her eyebrow raised. Eliciting no response from him, she started walking away. “See around, Potter.”

“Bye, Evans,” he said, running a hand through his hair. So much for that.

But as for now, he had a tree to attend to, and a cat to kidnap.

Remus wasn’t sure what to expect when Mary Macdonald asked him if he wanted to go to Tate Modern with her. He was a sucker for pretentious art, and she knew that. The three weeks they’d spent as partners in Flitwick’s Modern Art class had been hugely entertaining and had resulted in a discovery of the fact that the two shared a mutual love for hot chocolate, Terry Pratchett novels, and the Welsh band Catfish And The Bottlemen. Hell with it, why shouldn’t he say yes? It wasn’t like it would be a date.

“It’s totally a date,” said James, when asked. Remus groaned.

“There’s no way it’s a date. She would have told me if it was a date,” he insisted.

James shrugged. “Whatever you say, mate.”

Thus, Remus spent a good half an hour prior to his so-called date in a state of insecurity. Upon receiving a text from Mary requesting him to meet her at the Southbank Centre, he made a calculated and mature decision to shove his thoughts aside and go take the mickey out of some modern art.

One Tube journey later, he exited Embankment Tube Station. Despite having spent an entire month in London, the city continued to amaze him – especially the riverside. Having spent his childhood in a small town in Wales called Hay-on-Wye, being thrust into a life in central London had proved to be a bit of a contrast. He reflected upon this as he made his way across the Golden Jubilee bridge. Of course, having James Potter for a roommate made things a lot more interesting than they would have been otherwise.

The October air was chilly. Remus wrapped his coat around himself a little tighter and continued on his way, smiling at a busker who was belting out a version of Norwegian Wood with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest. He vaguely wondered as to how the man’s fingers hadn’t gone numb, especially considering how long he’d been playing for.

Finally, having made it to the other side, he spotted Mary on a red bench shaped like a slide, the wind giving the impression that her dark hair looked like it was making an attempt to escape her face. She noticed Remus approaching and jogged towards him. The two hugged briefly.

“It’s fucking cold, Lupin,” said, oddly cheerfully.

“Wait till December,” he said, grinning back at her. Mary shuddered. “Come on, then, let’s go make fun of modern art.”

“Oh, wow, that’s what I’ve been waiting for all my life.”

“Stop mocking me.”

“Stop being mockable.”

“Mockable isn’t a real word.”

“You’re not a real word–” Remus suddenly broke off and whipped around. That voice. He knew that voice. But where was it coming from?

“Dancing queeeeen, young and sweet, only seventeeeeen…”

Of course it had to be him. Remus broke into laughter. This was too good to be true. Mary noticed what he was looking at and soon was in fits of laughter as well, at the sight of Sirius Black some ten feet away from them, a mic grasped tightly in his hands and a speaker blaring out his version of the ABBA hit Dancing Queen.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here all week!” he announced as Remus and Mary headed towards him.

“Lupin, Macdonald, what a pleasant surprise!” he cried.

“Never knew you were so talented, Black,” laughed Mary.

“Very convincing falsetto,” agreed Remus. Sirius curtseyed.  

“It’s an art, you see,” he said happily. Remus was inclined to agree.

“YOU SOUND LIKE MY CAT!” came a voice from the distance. Sirius waved it off. “Pish-posh, they’re just jealous.”

“Of course,” said Mary, still laughing. “I should recruit you for my band. We’d be fantastic!”

“Sorry, Macdonald, I’m a solo act,” he said, turning back to the speaker positioned behind him. “And I’m afraid I have to get back to work now. Southbank Centre is about to hear my fantastic rendition of Staying Alive.”

“Fair enough. See you around, Black.” She gestured at Remus that they should be on their way. About thirty seconds later, a voice rang out in the distance.

“WELL, YOU CAN TELL BY THE WAY I USE MY WALK–”

Peter Pettigrew was exceptionally bored. The only reason he’d agreed to visit the Tate with his sister was because she’d agreed to buy him lunch afterwards at Founder’s Arms, and that wasn’t an opportunity he was going to pass up. But now, he was starting to wonder if it was worth it. The two hours he’d spent at the museum had resulted in a fairly intense game of Clash Of Clans on his phone – until, of course, the phone battery died and he was left with no choice but to wander the museum akin to a Viking warrior charting unknown territories.

Modern art was so weird. He was convinced he could pose as a flamingo in the museum and people would consider him to be an exhibit. Art students were also very weird, he reflected. Economics students were so much simpler. His class at KCL was full of fairly normal people – which, admittedly, made it that much more boring.

Chancing upon a bench, he took the opportunity to regain some lost energy. A full minute later, he felt like screaming. This was immensely boring.

Peter made up with his mind. Hell with it, it was time to enjoy himself a little bit. Spotting an empty corner in the room he was, he made a snap decision. Quickly removing his left shoe, he jogged over to the corner and placed it there. Brilliant. Modern art. Time to see how many people would fall for this.

He wasn’t disappointed. In a matter of minutes, a large crowd had gathered around his shoe, each person staring at it as if in deep contemplation. A tourist even pulled out a DSLR camera bigger than Peter’s hopes and took a photo of the new addition to the exhibit.

Peter was delighted. He couldn’t believe so many people had fallen for this. It was then that he heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Oi, give the poor lad his shoe back.”

Oh hell.

“And that’s how we met Peter,” finished Mary, laughing, as Peter smiled embarrassedly.

“So you made an arse out of a bunch of tourists, good on you,” said Lily, breaking into a laugh as well. Two days after her encounter with James Potter – not that she was thinking about the encounter at all – her roommate Mary Macdonald had offered to introduce her to the new friends she’d made. The three were seated in a local pub that evening, awaiting the presence of self-proclaimed ABBA-phile Sirius Black.

"Listen, I’ll be right back, I need to take a leak,” explained Peter and disappeared before Lily could blink. What an odd bloke.

Mary disappeared within the next minute as well, leaving to take a phone call (“Sirius, how the hell did you get lost?��), leaving Lily seated by herself, idly stirring a glass of lemonade. The music playing in the pub seemed oddly familiar – was it a Eurovision winner? She spent a couple of minutes racking her brain to figure it out when she heard a voice.

“Lemonade in October, Evans, are you bleeding mad?”

Of course it had to be James Potter. What were the odds?

“I’ll have you know I have a fantastic immune system,” she replied, watching Potter take a seat opposite her at the booth.

“Go on, sit down then,” she said sarcastically. He smiled pleasantly.

“Lovely attitude, there. Bet it really pays off, looking at all the friends you’ve got,” he gestured around the empty table.

“Clearly pays off for you as well, seeing as you’re spending your evenings stalking me.”

“Oh, this was purely a happy coincidence, Evans,” said Potter. Lily snorted.

“Your version of a happy coincidence is crashing into me like a double decker bus.”

“Oh, get over it, Evans, it’s been two days!”

“What if I had lasting injuries?”

“Well, do you?”

“Er, no, but that’s not the point!”

“Your face is the point!”

Lily was suddenly aware of the fact that the two were being watched by Mary, Peter, and a new appearance whom she assumed to be Sirius Black.

“Maybe if we get them some alcohol, they’ll start snogging!” Sirius stage-whispered.

“Maybe if we get you some alcohol, you’ll piss off,” shot back Lily, too riled up to give a toss about the fact that she was insulting a complete stranger, albeit a very handsome one.

“Better yet, he’ll start talking about Plato,” Potter added on. This statement attracted a few questioning looks. “It’s a long story,” he said by way of an explanation.

“So this is Evans?” Sirius sidled into the seat next to James. “I like her. She’s cooler than you, Mary.”

“You’ve known her all of two minutes!” she cried indignantly. All she got was a wink. “You’re a git.”

“I know.”

As the night went on, Sirius decided to put his fake ID to good use. Peter and Mary were a little hesitant with their alcohol, but they took to it with enthusiasm after a certain point. Potter and Sirius seemed to be veterans, and by around 11 PM, they took it upon themselves to provide the pub with a rousing duet of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.

In hindsight, it was probably the duet that got all of them forcibly removed from the pub. Or maybe it was Lily’s goat impressions.

“Never again,” moaned James. “I’m never drinking with Sirius fucking Black ever again.”

This statement elicited a pillow being chucked at him by Sirius fucking Black himself. “Shut up, you prat,” moaned Sirius in a similar tone. “Ow. No more alcohol for me. Ever again.”

Peter Pettigrew nodded in agreement from his corner of the room. Remus wasn’t sure exactly when he’d agreed to become a caretaker to his friends with alcoholic tendencies, but he’d taken on the duty with a commendable amount of enthusiasm. He’d also decided that this would be the only time that’d be fulfilling this role, and to ensure this, he’d taken the liberty of stealing Sirius’s fake ID.

What a way to end a month.

“Remus?” James called out. “It was totally a date.” His face seemed to have the vague semblance of a smirk.

Remus’s ears went red. “Shut up, you prig. Go fantasise about Lily.”

“Evans is an odd bird,” mumbled James. “But she’s cool.”

So much for maintaining his dignity.

[floraexplorer]

Hay On Wye Book Festival: A Haven for Literature Lovers

For most of the year, Hay-on-Wye is just a quiet Welsh village.

But for ten days each spring, over 250,000 people descend on Hay-on-Wye. They fill the narrow streets, they book every available bed for miles around, and they spend a great deal of time wandering around a field on the hunt for intellectual stimulation.

Why? Because they’re all obsessed with books – and Hay-on-Wye village is essentially the world’s biggest bookshop.

For those who don’t know, the Hay Literary Festival is a ten day event held each May in the tiny Welsh village of Hay-on-Wye, in the Brecon Beacons. Usually this village has a population of around 1,500 – but that number swells considerably when the bibliophiles arrive.

Avid readers and literary fans come to hear readings, panel discussions, podcast recordings, presentations and conversations from over six hundred different novelists, historians, children’s authors, comedians, academics and prominent thinkers. It’s a literature-loving group which I’d love to know the collective noun for! 

In May 2019 I was one of these Hay festival attendees, catching a train up from London to the Welsh border and daydreaming about the festival which awaited me in just three hours time.

This is pretty much my dream set up: cold coffee, new book and a three hour train journey ahead of me AND I’m off to spend the day at #HayFestival2019! I’m going to wander around a FIELD OF BOOKS!! Does it get any better?! #HayFestival pic.twitter.com/1cYfVH9OlF

— Flora Baker (@FloraBaker) May 24, 2019

I’ve been to many festivals over the years, some better than others – but I’ve recently come to the realisation that I actually have a fair amount of festival anxiety. The crowds, the chaotic atmosphere, the general pressure to have a Very Good Time: it all combines to make me feel pretty uncomfortable.

But thankfully, the Hay Festival was the complete opposite of a triggering festival situation. And I shall tell you why.

Pin me for later!

Why a literary festival is my dream antidote right now

The first months of 2019 have been very enlightening for me. After finally emerging from a surreal and nightmarish 2018 (where I did little more but sob in my bed, eat copious amounts of takeaway food and grieve the death of my dad) I started the new year with a new lease of life.

But that’s not to say I’ve thrown myself back into tons of activities or embarked on months of non-stop travelling. Quite the opposite, in fact.

2019 has seen me slow right down as I happily settle into a routine in London: one which involves catching up on all the blog articles I’ve never ‘had time’ to write (hello, huge guide-style posts about South America!), delving back into working on the third draft of my book manuscript, spending time with friends, and most crucially, ensuring that each day has a focus on self-care.

My therapist recently told me that I’ve got Generalised Anxiety Disorder. This was music to my ears, as I’ve long-thought that my anxious thoughts were serious enough to warrant an official name. With the help of my therapist, I’m now able to work on methods to keep my anxiety in check, and having a routine is a huge part of that.

For now, my self-care routine includes weekly CBT therapy sessions, meditation, going running every other day – and reading as many books as I can get my hands on. 

Rediscovering a love of reading books

Ahh, BOOKS! Aren’t they the best?! Once upon a time I basically lived in my local library – but then I grew up, and went travelling, and the concept of a library membership was all but forgotten.

Until recently, when I walked past my local library and suddenly remembered there were FREE BOOKS in there – and now I can’t stop loudly proclaiming my utter joy to people.

“Look at this huge stack of books! I borrowed all of these for free!!”

There’s nothing like getting lost in a good book, and it’s making me truly happy to be voraciously reading once again (although I know it’s not a competition, I’m still loving the fact that I’ve already read nineteen books this year!). It’s opened up my imagination to all these stunning worlds that so many authors have conceived of, and reminded me just how magical it is to be taken on a journey with them.

So when my friend Jas said she was going to Hay on Wye Book Festival for a talk in late May, I absolutely jumped at the chance. What better activity for a Bank Holiday weekend than celebrating my newly-invigorated bookworm status?

How to spend the day at Hay Literary Festival

If you catch a train from London like I did, you’ll go to Hereford station (the closest city to Hay on Wye). The festival organises bus transfers to and from Hereford – but be forewarned, buses only depart every 1.5 hours so time your train arrival accordingly (or catch a more expensive taxi with other festival attendees).

Hereford is 21 miles away from Hay-on-Wye, so the bus takes about an hour and costs £7.50 for a one-way ticket. When the bus leaves the rolling countryside and starts pottering through quintessential-British-village-style lanes with brightly coloured bunting fluttering in the breeze, you’ll know you’ve arrived.

The transfer bus dropped me on the outskirts of Hay-on-Wye village – a place which already looked so picturesque that I decided to have a little wander before heading to the festival itself.

I highly suggest you do the same. Because it’s ADORABLE.

Have a little look around Hay-on-Wye village

If you want some backstory to the festival, it’s worth knowing that Hay-on-Wye’s unofficial status as ‘the world’s first book town’ is precisely why the festival began in the first place.

In 1961, an Englishman named Richard Booth opened a second-hand bookshop in Hay’s old fire station, capitalising on the closure of lots of libraries in the US to ship books back in huge containers and fill his new shelves. The idea spread, and gradually more people began to open more bookshops, some choosing to specialise in antiquarian books or children’s books or history books.

As the village’s reputation for books grew, Richard Booth promptly moved into Hay Castle (also proclaiming himself the ‘King of Hay’) and partially opened that medieval building up as a bookshop, too.

Nowadays, Hay-on-Wye has over twenty bookshops scattered amongst the streets, and it’s globally known as a Book Town. Which is why it makes total sense that in 1987 a man named Peter Florence sat at a kitchen table with his parents and friends and conceived of a literary festival to further solidify the village’s book-obsessed reputation.

Florence funded the first Hay Festival with winnings from a poker game – although it’s rumoured that his mum also had to bail him out the first year. Luckily, the festival went from strength to strength, and now there are dozens of sister festivals all around the world in places like Colombia, Kenya, Denmark and Lebanon.

Apart from the plethora of Hay bookshops, the literary influence has burrowed its way into every nook and cranny of Hay-on-Wye: parking notices are book-themed, the hanging signs above shop doorways are shaped like books, and even the decorations in the local pharmacy are made with carefully folded pages.

Whether they work with literature or not, it feels like everyone living in this village is keen to jump on the book bandwagon.

Head to the fields of the Hay on Wye Book Festival

My curiosity about the village adequately sated, I followed the street signs to walk five minutes out of the village along the narrow Brecon Road, with fields on my left and houses on my right.

There were stewards in reflective vests politely directing cars into the fields set up for parking, and the row of houses opposite were embracing the entrepreneurial spirit: a family were selling ‘drive thru Welsh cakes’, someone’s front garden had been transformed into a high tea area serving scones and jam, and there was even a cider wagon parked in a driveway pouring freshly drawn pints for thirsty festival-goers!

The festival itself is held in a field just outside Hay on Wye village, where a network of covered green walkways connects fourteen different venues. I hadn’t planned an event schedule once I arrived, choosing instead to simply wander and see what the Hay festival is like from a newbie’s perspective.

In hindsight, this was probably a bit of a waste – especially as in a single day’s schedule I counted at least seventy eight events! On the other hand, my carefree exploring allowed me to get a general sense of what the Hay Festival has to offer. 

Browse the second-hand bookshops

First up, I had an industrious browse in the Oxfam bookshop, the shelves and tables positively groaning with second-hand books.

“Let’s look for Daddy’s books – history books, about things which used to go on!” I listened as the man opposite me read a passage out loud from a heavy-looking book entitled ‘World History’, which made the small boy in his arms wriggle and say “Put me down now!”

Buy some books written by the authors speaking at Hay

Next, I headed to the revered ‘Hay Festival Bookshop’, a huge tented space where virtually every book on the shelves belonged to an author speaking at Hay. Which was a pretty surreal realisation when I thought too much about it.

The bookshop is also where many of the book signings take place, and when I came in I immediately spotted Michael Rosen signing books for a gaggle of schoolchildren who kept asking him for selfies.

Rosen is a childhood hero of mine who wrote literal tons of poetry which I can still remember – which meant I unexpectedly turned into a bit of a gibbering idiot for a while, umming and ahhing about whether to wander nonchalantly over to his signing table and tell him he’s probably responsible for fostering my lifelong love of poetry… but at the last minute I wimped out. Ridiculous.

Read a book in one of the deckchairs on the grass…

One of my favourite elements of the Hay on Wye Book Festival is seeing the deckchairs dotted everywhere, waiting expectantly for book-loving bums to take a seat in.

I wandered the walkways until I spotted an empty chair and made a beeline, settling in and taking my book from my bag with a flourish so I could read for a bit.

…Or get serious in the official Reading Room

Unfortunately English springtime is not the warmest: it got a bit chilly outside so I headed to ‘The Serious Reading Room’, which took my breath away.

This little tented space was filled with comfy chairs and reading lamps, and every single person had their nose buried in a book. It was wonderfully, joyously surreal.

Attend an event at one of the venues

I didn’t manage to see what the other venues were like, but the talk we’d bought tickets for was held in the Oxfam Moot – a sizeable tent with ramped seating, a big stage and three large screens to better see the speakers.

At 5pm I queued outside the venue and took my seat (with my friend still racing to park her car and make it to the venue on time!). Just as the lights went down in the auditorium I spotted her running in from the other side of the tent, so we waited until after the talk to reunite.

For the next hour, I listened to Joan Smith and Nazir Afzal discuss the timely and somewhat terrifying topic of how domestic violence can turn men into terrorists. I’d been a little nervous about hearing this in-depth discussion (terrorism is an anxiety trigger I have to deal with quite often) but it was actually fascinating to hear a human rights activist (Smith) and a British solicitor (Afzal) speak on a subject I knew little about, and I left feeling inspired and educated.

Soak in the joyous sight of people READING! Everywhere you look!

Finally reunited with my darling friend Jas, we headed for the bookshop so I could buy the book I’d spied earlier (a stunning collection of essays by Sinead Gleeson). This was the first time Jas had been to Hay Festival too, and it was lovely to see her initial reactions to the place.

‘It’s very civilised, isn’t it! Very…quiet?!”

The sun was out again, and we flopped down in some deckchairs to catch up. All around us, people were reading books. They sat in deckchairs, on benches, at picnic tables, cross-legged on the floor, leaning against any surface – some held pages open while eating ice cream or munching a mouthful of paella.

It was a gorgeous sight.

The Hay Festival is unlike any festival I’ve been to: it’s calm, serene, fascinating and thought-provoking, with none of the stressful situations of a typical music festival that I’ve come to dislike.

In fact, the idea of a festival focused around books is still so amazing to me. How many large-scale events champion the concept of reading – not to mention providing a space to share what words have taught us, and how much we appreciate the value of a good book?! (And just in case any festival organisers are reading this, I think more festivals should take a leaf out of the Hay Festival’s book. Have an on-site bookshop! And please, PLEASE set up a dedicated reading room!)

I think this short clip from the fabulous Michael Rosen sums up what reading is all about for me. Give it a watch – and then maybe go and pick up a book.

“The great thing about reading is that it turns human experience into a kind of object that you can look at and turn over,” says @MichaelRosenYes @hayfestival #TextualHealing pic.twitter.com/hBLJO4JKRa

— BBC Culture (@BBC_Culture) May 30, 2019

Have you ever been to Hay on Wye Book Festival? And more crucially, are you a fan of book puns?! You might have noticed I couldn’t help but add a few in here – let me know how many you spotted in the comments below!

Helpful tips for Hay Literary Festival:

How to get to Hay-on-Wye by train/bus: From Hereford train and bus stations, there’s a transfer bus every 1.5 hours which takes 50 minutes and costs £7.50 one way, £10 return. There are also transfer buses from Worcester Crowngate bus station. Contactless payment is available on board.

How to get to Hay-on-Wye by car: The festival is just off the A438 between Brecon and Hereford. The official Hay Festival address is Dairy Meadows, Brecon Road, Hay on Wye, HR3 5PJ.

Do I have to pay for entry to Hay Book Festival? No, it’s free to enter the festival site – but each event is individually ticketed. Prices range from £5 to £40 and all tickets are available either from the festival’s website or the box office on-site.

What accommodation can I stay in during Hay Book Festival? There is camping on-site (Tangerine Fields are 2 minutes from the festival) and plenty of hotels, bed & breakfasts and Airbnbs in the surrounding area. Make sure to book early as they fill up fast!

Did you enjoy reading about my experiences at the Hay Book Festival? Pin it for later!

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