That’s it, folks: my first crime convention over. Three days (I missed the fourth) felt just too short. After all, I was just getting into the swing of things when I had to leave. But this is a good thing; I think I’ve learned my lessons to get the most out of next year when I shall definitely return.

Harrogate has been running for three years now under the chairship of Val McDermid (and from next year, Mark Billingham). Each year has seen improvements and tweaks to make the most of the four day convention and the work they’ve put into the organisation has shown through this year.

The panels and events showed a fairly diverse mix of the British crime writing world, although if there was anything missed out, one would have to say it was pure noir. Which was a shame, especially considering the Chandler theme that ran through some of the events.

I arrive a day early, stuck out on a lovely caravan site that is just too far from the main action. This is a shame. It would have been easier to have been stuck around the hotel and bar, simply because I had no idea who anyone was when I went down and hanging around for a while before hand would probably have been useful (I always find you bump into someone when you check in places). Really. I’ve talked to my agent, the amazing Jane, down the phone (and what a wonderful person she is – I’ve never seen such enthusiasm for just about everything before) and the editor who works with her to get people like me into line (the ever smiley Emma). But I’ve never met them. And therein lies the problem – you usually get people’s physical appearance entirely wrong when all you’ve heard down the phone is their voice.

So anyway, on the Thursday I head down in time for the opening events. I walk in about six o’clock and get scared. I walk out again. I take a breath of fresh air and prepare to try again. I see a face I recognise (Its Stuart MacBride, author of the superb Cold Granite [we’ll have a review next issue]) and scare this poor author by shouting his name very loudly. But it’s fine, because once he gets over the initial shock and realises this bearded tramp isn’t about to mug him, he’s a very friendly bloke and starts introducing me to people. Over the next hour or so I meet a lot of faces including editors, agents, writers, would-be-writers and one fella who starts to tell me how these crime writers known nothing about art because they’ve never had to struggle to make money. Hey, that must mean I’m about to make art!

I also meet Donna Moore briefly. I’ve heard much buzz about her upcoming debut, Go To Helena Handbasket (Point Blank Press), and have to say if it’s half as good as she is nice (that makes sense, right?) its going to be an amazing read.

Then we head in for the opening ceremonies, to hear the nominees for the Theakston Old Peculier Crime novel of the Year (there’s a title and a half) read their work. With readings from some of the nominees (and Stella Duffy doing a remarkable job standing in for everyone who ain’t there, including The Rankin, Minnette Walters and Andrew Taylor) this portion of the ceremony is great fun. Stella Duffy shocks the room into silence reading from Walters (whose foul language quotient surprisingly threatens to overshadow Ray Banks, which explains why he’s avoiding the festival; he just doesn’t want to be ashamed by his inability to swear more than Minnette Walters) and everyone who’s actually there brings their book to life, which is pretty heartening considering you have to worry when you think about a writer reading from their own book.

I circulate a bit while the decision is being finalised, and finally hear a laugh that sounds oddly familiar. An editor I met earlier grabs my arm and says, “Over there; your agent” and finally I meet the (in?)famous Jane Gregory. Full of so much energy you think she must be a set of triplets who keep swapping places every time one gets tired, with a bawdy laugh and a joke for every occasion, Jane must be wondering who this shy wee Scot is who suddenly sidles over and tries to say hello. But she’s wonderfully accommodating and starts showing me around the place before introducing me to Emma and Jemma who both work with her. I try not to say anything stupid but before I can, the lights dim and the final ceremony starts.

Mark Billingham (applause!) takes the award. And well deserved, too. He looks rather surprised but very pleased at his hand crafted barrel (filled with Theakstons, one suspects) and manages to make a few jokes without breaking into Gwynnneth Paltrow style tears.

And then its back to the bar. Really, there’s a lot of “back to the bar” going on which is why I recommend you stay within walking distance of the venue if you go next year. I can’t drink but that’s fine. I get a few odd looks but everyone is still talking to me.

And then everyone starts drinking. Really drinking. Except me. I’m driving. But I use the opportunity to say hello to Mark Billingham, Simon Kernick, a couple more editor types and Val McDermid (who, originally coming from just around the next hill from where I was brought up, knows the reputation of the bus I used to get to school). All lovely people and all very nice to this incredibly nervous wee Scot who, to use MacBride’s charming description on his blog, was looking “feral”. Back in the bar I meet MacBride again and he proceeds to terrify Jemma (from G&C) with tales of Fife. I take the high road and say nothing about Aberdeen. It’s best that way.

I leave somewhere about half one. The bar is open till half three. And somehow, people are up and about the next morning, although some are slightly worse for wear.

Friday’s panels, as seen by your cash strapped, but still intrepid reporter included:

SEX AND VIOLENCE – WHERE’S THE LINE? (panellists: Val McDermid, Simon Kernick, Natasha Cooper and John Fullerton. Chaired by Mark Billingham)

A panel of importance to me (I love my sex and violence), this was a great way for me to start the first real day of the convention. Of course, being a short person and being stuck at the back of the room I could barely see the panel. It might have helped if they had a chair!

What struck me as odd throughout the panel was how disturbed people were reading books. I don’t know about you, but obvious violence has never disturbed me. McDermid’s orchestrated torture scenes in books like Mermaid Singing never got to me half as much as the dissolution of the group of friends in The Distant Echo. And Tom Thorne’s father disturbed me more than the serial killer in Billingham’s novels. But clearly the violence was what disturbed a lot of people and there was some good discussion from the panel on violence and the matter of responsibility in books. Val McDermid at one point made the observation that she can’t stand heroes who get knocked about and then stand up again like nothing happened. She’s right: violence has to hurt. Really. You can be comic about it, but if there are no consequences then you have to question the responsibility of the piece.

Of course, when it came to sex everyone got embarrassed. Simon Kernick (earlier perfectly happy discussing scenes where people got tortured with steam irons) got a little shy and admitted he didn’t like writing sex scenes in case his mother was reading (but she doesn’t mind domestic appliance violence, of course!). The subject was almost glossed over, but the main problem seemed to be that everyone felt characters lost something of their sympathy in sex scenes especially, as McDermid (I think) pointed out readers would lose interest if it didn’t fit their sexual, um, peccadilloes.

All in all, this was a great way to start the morning (sex and violence; I felt like I was back in Dundee!) with a well informed and witty panel who managed to make sex and violence palatable to even the hungover.

FRESH BLOOD (Panellists, Stuart MacBride, Louise Anderson, Catherin Sampson and Ilona Van Mills. Chaired by Val McDermid)

Stuart MacBride – looking surprisingly fresh after his attempt to get locked in the bar the night before – was seated at the far right and looking, despite his later claims of (and I quote from his blog) “looking forward to it, in much the same way that a mongoose looks forward to falling arse-first into a cobra’s bedroom, wearing nothing but a tutu and a smile”, very relaxed (it’s the beer). He’s the only one whose book I’ve read (actually I’m halfway through it by this point and will let you all know officially what I think next issue – advance word, bloody good!), but the everyone else manages to sell their book on different strengths, from sounding quite literary and intelligent (Ilona Van Mills) to sounding like good fun (Catherine Sampson). They all look a little trembly at first but once everyone gets into the spirit things proceed apace with only the two Scots – MacBride and Anderson – causing any trouble. Mind you, Val McDermid’s chairing and she won’t let things get any more out of hand than she’s willing to allow.

A lot of interesting stuff in this panel and its interesting to note how everyone avoids the quetsion from the audience, “How do you know when you’ve reached the end?” “Um, there’s two words that say “the end” which suddenly appear in the middle of the page” Everyone mumbles that they have deadlines. No one seems to really know, of course, but the main consideration of whether you’ve reached the end seems to be how loudly your editor is shouting. But it is interesting to hear a few people admit if they didn’t work by deadlines they’d probably never get anything done.

Another fun panel, some more good jokes, and this time I can actually see the damn writers. Actually, I tell a lie. I can’t see Ilona Van Mills. There’s a big pillar in the way.

The pillar is about to become the bane of my life.

SURELY NOT? THE RETURN OF THE CONSPIRACY THEORY NOVEL (Pannelists: Tom Bradby. David Hewson. Chris Petit and Michael Marshall. Chaired by Paul Routledge)

I’ll confess now; I hadn’t bought to tickets to this in advance and wound up getting one from someone who’d double booked their time (thank you very much!) which was very nice. It started out interesting with a lot of talk about “big conspiracies” (where nameless individuals conspire on a huge level – ie, alien invasions) and “small conspiracies” (which can have large consequences – ie, Tony and George Bush having drinks one day and deciding they don’t like the way that Saddam fella has been squinting at them). Unfortunately, the panel failed to keep proper order and despite a few interesting tidbits the focus wobbled about here and there without much conclusion for my money. Interesting stuff came up, but on the whole this was one of the weaker panels of the festival (or maybe I just don’t get conspiracy novels).

If I should die in the next few weeks and this review should disappear I think you’ll know why…

And speaking of conspiracies… the pillar…

After the panel, I returned to the caravan, sated for a while. But being that far out, I was getting antsy. I needed to do something… finally, I said damn it all, and returned to the hotel in time for…

LATE NIGHT SHOW: AN EVENING OF CHANDLER

Details in the program were vague. What was known was that Mark Billingham, Stella Duffy and Simon Brett were involved in this evening’s entertainment. As it turned out, we were treated to a marvellously funny Foul Play (basically a half-improvised murder mystery with two guest panellists attempting to work out whodunit) with Brett in the chair and Billingham and Duffy giving life to the cast.

I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time. From Mark’s wildly variable accents (A mobster who morphed into Woody Allen, a PI who sounded like Bogart and Connery’s bastard lovechild) to Stella’s wonderfully OTT moll, the whole thing had us rolling in the aisles (although some of that may have been the drink). Absolutely wonderful stuff, and as ever followed by a right good drink around the bar area.

If you think you’re noticing a pattern, you’re right. The bar, my friends, that is the place to be at these events.

I left about half one but again the bar was filled (mostly with Mr MacBride by all accounts) till the early hours of the morning.

Saturday:

I didn’t go to anything in the morning. Cash strapped and tired, I didn’t go the morning panels but instead did a bit of wandering. I found the lovely nearby Knaresborough which is a strange but beautiful little town. Met the staff at the local independent Cover Save Books, who were incredibly friendly and, if you’re from the area or like to do shopping for second hand books over the internet, deserve your support.

Ended up back in Harrogate, perusing the old bookshops and started adding to my collection of pulps, including a British edition of Richard S Prather’s “Gat Game”, an EQMM from 1963 and “The Rynox Connection” by Philip McDonald. But of all the finds, my favourite is Lawrence Block’s 1961 “Case of the Pornographic Photos” a spin off from the TV series starring Ray Milland. Wonderful stuff and adding to our classic cover collection here at CSS.

Returning to the hotel and the bar, I met John Rickards who proceeded to involved me in a bizarre conversation about badgers, beards and other rather deviant topics (the problem with attaching badgers to your face seems to be stopping them getting at your drinks). He’s a real nice guy if more than a little obsessed by small animals (but then having heard his and MacBride’s discussion about Teletubbies, Poobahs and genital motifs I had a hint of this disturbed nature).

Eventually, though, I retired to the relative sanity of

SO, WHAT SO FUNNY? HUMOUR IN CRIME (Liz Evans, Jasper Fforde, Stuart Pawson and Malcolm Price. Chaired by Peter Guttridge)

I hadn’t been intending to attend this panel but by this point I was thinking, “screw the budget” and, besides, I’d enjoyed Malcolm Price’s Aberystwyth, Mon Amour so it was worth popping along. And Jasper Fforde’s stuff had always looked pretty interesting.

The topic was tough stuff, of course. I don’t know anyone who can dissect humour and most of the admissions from these guys seemed to be along the lines of it coming from their guts. They let the characters do the talking and, as Liz Evans admitted, “[her protagonist] just happens to be funny.” There were more than a few interesting revelations, of course. Everyone has a file of lost jokes that never made it into books because they didn’t fit (heartening to learn they seem to treat their characters with respect and never let a good joke get in the way) although there was talk of releasing these deleted scenes upon the general public via their various websites. There was also some discussion of taste and while many of them hedged around the subject it seemed that taste was a factor in their jokes telling and while they seemed wary of drawing a line it was clear they all had one that was unspoken at least.

And, of course, we learned the more gruesome the death, the funnier it is. Shooting someone in the head isn’t funny. But dumping them in a vat of gingerbread till they die, now that’s comedy…

Oh, yeah, and the pillar was there so I have no idea what Stuart Pawson looks like… although I know he’s considering approaching Harley Davidson with a few non-motorcycle related product ideas…

After the panel, time for a quick meal at Est, Est, Est. It’s a nice wee restaurant with a few Italian influences and some nice sounding Monkfish on the menu. But I opted for a chicken dish that went down a treat.

Following this we headed back to the hotel and I managed to get in to see…

MICHAEL CONNELLY

Author of the Bosch novels, Connelly is a slick but superb writer. A deserved best seller, I’ve been a fan of his work for some time now so it was great to see him give an entertaining and interesting talk. Mark Lawson (from Newsnight Review) took time out from making Germaine Greer hates everything about modern culture to ask the questions, and Connelly looked at ease up there. Of course, that pillar wasn’t actually in the way for once, but I had someone in front of me with an enormous head who kept tilting it so I couldn’t actually see Mr Connelly.

The chat was interesting and Connelly’s a very relaxed speaker. Nice to know that he puts some degree of realism into his work, incorporating real cops whenever possible and nice to realise that even he thinks he made a mistake with Bosch as a PI but was allowed to correct that mistake when the department introduced a policy of re-hiring retired cops. There was some discussion of the Eastwood film, and why it was simply a watchable (just) film rather than a great movie. It was also interesting to learn why Connelly became involved in crime writing, having been witness to a failed carjacking when he was a teenager: He saw someone running past, throwing something into the bushes. Turned out to be a gun that had been used in a carjacking gone wrong. The police rounded up suspects but none of them matched Connelly’s description properly, although the cop in charge thought Connelly was scared and just refusing to ID the guy.

Of course, Connelly being as big as he did had several signings during the day. I should have tried to get in line but it was easier just to hang out at the bar…

THE GRAND PUB QUIZ

Walking back into the grand bar where this was held, I failed to see anyone I knew. It was that busy. Luckily for me, I bumped into someone else I’d met over the time who was equally lost and we were eventually sucked into another very friendly group in The Old Bill team. This was fine, because even if we were above numbers, the Orion team at the next table were cheating with several more members than standard!

Hosted by Mark Billingham (looking very smart in his tux) and Val McDermid (looking gothically splendid in some kind of spider-influenced hat) the pub quiz was a mix of ludicrously insane questions which it would take a genius to know. I got one of “opening paragraphs” round (McDermid’s Mermaid’s Singing) and felt embarrassed for not getting one (From the Big Sleep, if I recall). The “Guess the back of the Crime Writer’s Head” was made more difficult by the fact they’d stretched more than a few of the pictures. Simon Kernick’s head there was among them, but no one got it, even the man himself!

In the end, the team from Shots won, to much good-hearted jeering from Orion (who were just upset because they were penalised for having too many members).

Of course. Soon afterwards all such things were forgotten as the drinking got serious. While I had to leave to get back to Scotland around midnight, according to reports from MacBride at al, the bar was filled till around six that morning.

Overall, Harrogate was an amazing experience. The panels and events are top notch, and the city itself is beautiful. But most of all, my friends, it’s the people who make this events. From writers to agents to editors to readers, everyone there is approachable, occasionally drunk and always friendly. From walking in alone, I ended up meeting people I’d never usually have a chance to meet and I’ve learned more than a little something about this crime writing industry. Even if I wasn’t making a go of this, I’d still have found this to be a wonderful experience. And next year, my friends, listening to the whispers, sounds like they might be topping even this year’s marvellous experience…