Hi Ho For Harrogate!
The French have dainty, succulent pastries decorated with chantilly creme. The North has rock cakes you could use as door-stops. More precisely, Betty’s Team Rooms specialise in the kind of sturdy brown crack-your-dentures tea fare that epitomises the true horror that is the English cake, partaken of by tough old birds in winter overcoats and sturdy boots. In August.
Yes, I’m off to Harrogate once again to partake in the Theakston’s Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival, where there will be lots of terribly famous authors popular with gruesome-minded old dears, and me, the ‘cult’ choice for the few readers in this area who don’t believe everything they read in the Daily Mail. Yes, it’s a lonely path I tread but one I’m happy with. So I’ll be there all weekend, either signing or doing panels, or at the bar of the Crown Hotel, or crying lonely tears as I slip toward a bitter, unloved death in a festival hotel bedroom.