Sydney Writers' Festival

SAT 1216: I'm supposed to be supporting my fellow writers at the zine fair but my arse is still on a train to Wynyard because I decided to sleep in. Surprisingly, the journey to Walsh Bay (train + walk) takes less than half an hour so I'm soaking up the sun on Pier 4 in no time.

SAT 1244:As I approach the Sydney Theatre I notice that the Info Booth is dirty. 'Would have thought they'd scrub it up for the festival,' I thought. On closer inspection, however, I realise that the booth is unoccupied and has been cordoned off by the police. The 'dirt' turns out to be scorch marks. Apparently someone torched the info booth overnight and the heat blew in the glass doors of the Sydney Theatre. Luckily, the Sydney Theatre sessions are still going ahead.

I catch Gail and her friends Ashley and Nigel with a coffee at the kiosk just past the theatre. I haven't seen Gail since the Sydney Festival last year and even then it was only fleeting. I still have gifts for her from Scotland, that's how long it has been. We pledge to catch up soon but I feel it won't happen like that.

SAT 1255: I meet with the new vollie co-ordinator, Stephen, for the first time. I missed the briefing last week because I was in Canberra with the FBHQ crew and he was very understanding. I pick up my bits (t-shirt, lanyard etc) for my 5pm shift. He's very organised but I think I loved Anna K too much to believe he could fill her shoes.

SAT 1300: I've just discovered that the line to see the Emerging Writers session is rather long even though there's a good half hour to go til it starts. I end up joining the queue and chatting to a couple of fellow writers, one lady from Bali and a freckled girl about my age who's a poet of some description. She has Dorothy Porter's new book El Dorado and I'm jealous.

SAT 1332: The session begins. It's interesting on many levels and comforting to know that there is no set way to get published. The only prerequisite, it seems, is to write well. Easier said than done.

SAT 1508: Pier 3 is rippling with youth, for this sunny strip is home to Sydney zinesters, which is definitively 'young'. I greet fellow Ink Wellian LT, but she isn't free to talk, so I start at the top of the pier and work down. There's plenty of good stuff and I'm happy to part with my money for most of it. Reassuringly, there are also a couple of familiar faces from the Newcastle Young Writers' Festival, like the sci-fi zinester who wears a bowler hat.

There's a tempting t-shirt by Brown Paper Tiger (the Raven of Wretchedness, if you want to know) but I resist in favour of the Interface anthology and a 'ShityRail' sticker as well as LT's two new zines and a new edition of my fave zine Long Story Short. I also purchase a present for Mae Mae but I won't say what it is in case she reads this before I give it to her on her graduation day.

SAT 1542: I've exhausted the zine fair so I'm making my way to Circular Quay Station for my 5pm shift manning the doors for the Lionel Shriver session at Paddington Town Hall. I set myself down for a minute outside the Sebel to readjust my load when I see the matriarchal Anne Mac wander past. I haven't seen her since the last festival. We chat for a good ten minutes but we both have to skedaddle in opposite directions. I continue my journey to the quay. And yes, I stop at The Baker's Oven Cafe and buy myself a chocolate fudge slice to sustain me until I get to the east. What did I say about the east?

SAT 1605: Sitting at a table Anastasia's, Paddington, eating chicken katsu don. Their menu is very broad, I must say - their special is the 'real' Italian hot chocolate. Unfortunately the don has way too much onion in it, so it looks like I've left a third of the meal on my plate.

SAT 1652: I arrive at the Hall early but the other volunteers are already there. I introduce myself but it turns out I don't need to because Annette, head of operations, recognises me from last year. It takes me a moment to reciprocate the recognition.

SAT 2040: Hiking down Oxford Street to the promise of some rest. The session went well except for one man's angst. I went to see if the ushers upstairs needed any help as the line started snaking down the stairwell. I was only a few steps up when a man started barging towards me with his arms outspread so that I couldn't pass. "Why won't they open the doors?" he demanded. (Well CLEARLY I don't know seeing as I am at the bottom of the stairwell and you're not letting me up to check...). It turned out they were still doing a sound check. Some people need an attitude lobotomy.



SUN 1242: I'm supposed to meet with someone called Lyn at the Vollie Base but no one seems to know what she looks like. I hang around aimlessly watching the outdoor audience listening to the broadcast of the session in SDC 2/3 which, presumably, is full. I wonder if they get a good view into the vollie room...

SUN 1306: Lyn has found me and soon we are dodging tourists and Italian Festival attendees and MS Fun Run participants on our way to the Hotel Intercontinental. The Afternoon Tea Readings start at 1430 and although we arrive just shy of 1330, there are half a dozen people already loitering outside the ballroom.

SUN 1450: A lovely waitress has just handed us all a glass of iced water. I almost tip it over my head but decide I'm thirsty just in time to avoid a scene. The shift has been most of a nightmare from start to finish. Here I was thinking that little harm could be done in a two-hour shift at a civilised session such as the Afternoon Tea Readings but that was an erroneous assumption. You wanna hear it? Too bad, here goes:

• the tix are seated and everyone has been allocated a table


• it appears that none of the ticket holders knew about the allocations


• hence everyone who wants to sit with their friends but booked separately pesters me or my fellow registering vollie to swap tables


• this is akin to 3D Spider Solitaire armed with only a list rather than a spatial understanding of the tables


• there are almost 200 people trying to wait in a 5m x 5m space


• the doors open, temporary relief


• it appears that instead of platters on each table as instructed by SWF, the Intercontinental has decided to host a buffet. For 200 people. All coming in at the same time. For book readings. The grey panthers go wild as they are wont to do


• it appears that some people don't think that their table has a good enough view of the writers' table and have moved without telling us, thus confusing people who have been allocated to that table


• it appears that when one lady and her friend returned from visiting the buffet, their seats had been taken by someone who refused to move (THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THERE'S A BUFFET INSTEAD OF A TABLE PLATTER)


• a line forms for people who don't have tickets but are hoping that there are places left over


• another line forms for people who bought tickets but seem to be missing from the master list of table allocations


• yet another line forms for people who told the Intercontinental that they had dietary requirements (no dairy, no sugar - what do you eat at an afternoon tea? really?) but don't appear to have booked


• we have one walkout within 15 minutes of the food frenzy


• the doors close. I hotfoot out of there ASAP.

SUN 1516: Back at vollie base. Penny, one of the production honchos, sits at the table stabbing at some pasta. It's what appears to be a 5-minute break before shit happens again. I tell her about Intercontinental and she empathises. She asks me why I'm not in the Green Room this year. I don't have an answer, I mean, it was Stephen's call and Stephen isn't Anna K so I can't ask him why. She rushes off when a warning comes through about a man breaking ranks down the SDC corridors. They run a tight ship, these production honchos.

I ask the other vollies hanging around - a paramedic and a pale girl who seems bored out of her brain - whether there are any good dessert foods around. On their recommendation I buy a chocolate mud cupcake and inhale it on my way over to the Sydney Theatre to change into my pleb gear. I SMS my flatmate to buy me a caramel slice from The Baker's Oven Cafe if she passes by there on her way over.

SUN 1550: I'm sitting outside between pier 7 and 8 reading the paper trying valiantly to catch the last rays of the sun. My back starts to buckle and I end up propping myself against a wooden bench thing watching diners at the Firefly and an artist appraise his work (pictured above). It's a young person's thing to sit on the ground but I feel old because I know why I'm doing it.

SUN 1643: Waiting for my flatmate outside the Sydney Theatre. A crowd builds inside and out. I spot Julian Morrow from The Chaser sidle in with his partner. Makes sense - we are about to see Laugh Out Loud, which stars The Chaser's Charles Firth (pictured left signing my flatmate's copy of American Hoax) with other comedic writers like satirist Max Barry, international author Nury Vittachi and the everywhere comedian, Wil Anderson.

She didn't hear my SMS, thus no caramel slice. Boo...

The session is good, there are plenty of laughs and the pain of the weekend limps to a back seat. We head up to the signing room so that my flatmate can get her book signed by Charles. The funny thing about the book is that it is actually already signed - I bought it from Kinokuniya last Christmas for the sole reason that the sticker on the cover reads 'Signed by (not) the author'. Inside, various other members of The Chaser have left their signatures.

Charles takes up the book and there is a moment of confusion before he laughs, signs the book and draws arrows to the other signatures to label them 'IMPOSTORS'. Sweet. I snap a photo and it's all over; a midget SWF for me but enough to blog about.

P.S: We stop buy the Walsh Bay supermarket on the way to Wynyard and I get my caramel slice. It's so good that I do a large salad penance when I get home.