66

“God, I didn’t mean that. Sorry.”
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“No! For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even know what films he would be showing. I mean, it’s generally old Communist propaganda newsreels with some drossy B-grade Sci-fi flick as the main feature, but I had no idea it would have a bunch of Italian-speaking Bedouin chicks wrestling each other in a sandpit.”
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“Come on. You believe me, don’t you?”
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“Would you like another drink, something like that?”
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“But you do accept my apology?”
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“Okay, whatever you want to talk about.”
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“Oh, the literary festival. That really was a downer. I was supposed to be covering the event for a magazine, but they all made a point of ignoring me and walking away every time I went up and tried to talk to anyone.”
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“Yeah, but I’ll get my revenge. Wait till they see the write-up I give them!”
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“Well, I thought of opening with something like: ‘I was determined to write a balanced, statesmanlike piece about the Going East Literary Festival; but then, halfway through, I suddenly thought “Fuck it: why not tell it like it is?”’”
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“Say what?”
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“I don’t see why not. I’ve done it before. Not, admittedly, in this particular publication, but it does rather add to the flavour, don’t you think?”
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“I’m sorry.”
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“No, it’s just that I’m letting the rancorous side of my personality dominate – nagging on about the poor organisers of this festival, who I’m sure didn’t cock it all up on purpose.”
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