Oxford Literary Festival: old ladies swearing

It's been around for years, apparently, but we've only just noticed it (thanks to Porkpie). This week we attended our first three Oxford Literary Festival events. Saturday was the lovely, excellent Tim Mowl, who is as compelling and enjoyable a speaker today as he was when I studied under him at University. Bless him for just about remembering who I am, after all these years, and bless me for buying his ridiculously overpriced book (I am sure the content will be high quality and good value, but £25 is, I feel, a discouragement to people who might otherwise have purchased a book about a relatively niche interest C18th architect/designer).
Gripe 1: it would have been nice if the on-site Blackwells concession offered ... concessions to attendees; the Sunday Times ("title sponsor" of the festival) is offering readers a £7 discount on Tim's book, but it was full price at the festival store.

Anyway, yesterday we spent a happy hour in the slightly odd setting of Christchurch dining hall being regaled by Christopher Meyer (it felt like an after dinner speech without the dinner). Pete took copious notes and will no doubt be blogging the event soon). Most interesting point for me was Meyer's assertion that Israel, Ireland and ... Taiwan have more influence with the White House than Britain (and he has never liked use of the term "special relationship"). Oh, and Meyer also told us that George W. Bush n'est pas un cretin. Meyer was referred to as "Sir Christopher" by the chap who introduced him, and "Chris" by seemingly everybody else. He covered the issue of the furore over the publication of his memoirs by pointing out that he had followed due process by submitting his book to the Cabinet office (or whatever it's called), which duly passed it fit for publication. It's thus their lookout, we inferred, if they now feel too much was exposed.
Gripe 2: I wish the volunteer stewards (who were generally doing a splendid job) had applied themselves just a little more thoroughly to the task in hand by fully shutting the door between the dining hall and the adjacent kitchen. Acoustics in the hall made it hard enough at times to hear Meyer, without the added cacophany of teacups being stacked up ready for tomorrow's breakfast.

And at lunchtime today we went off to see the fabulously entertaining AA "a very, very nice man" Gill. The funniest moment for me, though, was not one of AA's many giggle-worthy anecdotes, but rather a response to one of his comic observations by two twin-set-and-pearlsy old dears in front of us. As the wind-battered marquee is filled with the audience's laughter:
Creaky old dear 1: "What did he say?"
Creaky old dear 2: "'AS Byatt'."
Creaky old dear 1: "No, after that."
Creaky old dear 2: "'Fuck off then'."
We also enjoyed our brief conversation with AA (note that I don't yet feel we are intimate enough for me to call him Adrian) over the ensuing book signing. He seemed very pleased to hear that we had managed to purchase a copy of the hard-to-come-by (no pun intended) film "Hot House Tales" which he directed (and which stars Ron Jeremy, to clue you in on its content).

I'd like to know what the creaky old dears would make of that.

No further gripes.