The Crime of Cardigans

There is nothing better than sitting people-watching at the Book Festival; watching people lounging in deckchairs, sipping fancy coffee (the kind that, even if you hate coffee, smells oh so good), and flicking through pages of crisp, near-untouched copies of brand new books. There's a nice, mellow, sort of mumble that floats around the place. There's never an awkward silence or a disturbing uproar; just a blanket of near inaudible conversations. I took all of this - the sights, the smells, the noises - as I waited in line for Derek Landy's signature on my just purchased, never-before-seen, copy of Death Bringer, which isn't going to be on any bookstores' shelves until September. Only the Book Festival is capable of willing a publisher to hand over some brand new copies before everyone else. And for that, I love it even more.

I was not alone, as I stood there, letting thoughts walk on by like the individuals on the wooden boards that run along the edge, so nobody's shoes are dirtied in the race for the Signing Tent - they think of everything, the Book Festival people, they really do. A near four hundred youths stand behind and infront of me. Four hundred. Never in my life of visiting the Festival, have I been in a line of four hundred people. It was gob-smackingly long, it was mind-blowingly long. It was three hours long. All of a sudden, the joys of people-watching in Charlotte Square was a little less satisfying - especially when the sun died away and we got caught up beneath a threatening looking rain cloud.

The talk Derek Landy had given us was great. He made us laugh as he told us about his life before, and after, Skulduggery. I mentally noted any Writer Pointers he fired our way; amongst stories about his comic-toy-collection and I-had-fourteen-cats-at-one-point stories. But now: three hours of nothingness. I wanted to knock myself out with my brand new book just to take away the sheer boredom. Emily and Sarah Laidlaw (That's Emily's best friend, and my very-almost-could-practically-be second big sister) stuck by me all the way, which was a relief, because the Goth girls and wayward boys where all eyeing my pastel cardigan with disgust. I could hear their mental thoughts as they glanced, disgusted, in my direction:

"Where's her black lipstick? Why's her hair a normal colour, I mean, brown? Who has brown hair these days? And what the hells with her CARDIGAN. I mean a CARDIGAN. Nobody who is a fan of Skulduggery Pleasant can wear a CARDIGAN!"

I merely smiled and looked down at my pretty shoes. Unfortunately, I'm more of an inward Skulduggery Pleasant fan, and therefore did not come dressed up in ripped up tartan shorts. I wasn't  wearing eyeliner either. I didn't much fancy trying to explain to them that, in fact, anybody can be a fan, not just the ones who dye their hair electric pink. Which is true. Why does everybody act like you have to "dress the part"? It's so annoying. No, I'm not like you, but isn't that what this books about? Being different, being a little bit odd?

And plus. I could've bet them in a Skulduggery Pleasant Quiz anyday of the week...

Love,
Sarah xx


p.s. I highly recommend the books if you're into a magic story which is a bit more twisted and dark than most!