Hay continues to be a delight, especially when you can get up close to Rob Lowe
Despite the concentration on matters scientific at this year's Hay literary festival, for proof that evolution isn't necessarily a given, you just had to have a coveted seat in the packed confines of the Barclays Wealth tent. As the wind outside whipped the auditorium, a no less impressive frenzy was taking place inside as I accompanied Rob Lowe on to the stage. Never have I felt more professionally redundant.
Despite my scrutiny of his compelling autobiography, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, I knew that were Lowe to sit there simply smiling at his fans for the full 60 minutes, they'd be fully sated. Certainly, the reputation of this "festival of the mind", as it was dubbed by President Clinton, was put into question by the hundreds of women, some old enough to be accompanied by their grandchildren, shrieking, screaming and behaving like lovesick teenagers. Lowe, a veteran of such hysteria, seemed nonplussed while I checked escape routes in case a stage invasion were to take place.
Escape of a different nature presented itself every day after I finished recording my TV books show. It has taken five years to perfect the annual family pilgrimage to the festival. This year, we achieved nirvana, taking a house nestling under Hay Bluff where, after a morning spent quizzing festival attendees about their literary output, I could slip on my boots and head up the hills with dog and children in tow. On our return, log fires, underfloor heating and an outdoor hot tub awaited, the latter two powered by a geothermal heating system, surely a wonder in our environmentally endangered world.
The state of our planet, past and present, was high on the Hay agenda. Pop star and particle physicist Dr Brian Cox confirmed that science is now sexy when he told me that gaggles of teenage girls turn up at his science talks and ask for his autograph. The Cox effect has so far escaped the mighty emeritus professor of physics, Russell Stannard. Indeed, there was some dozing in the aisles as he whistled through some of the most advanced theories in science today. By the end, he loosened up and cracked an impromptu joke about his grandson's kitchen science experiments before rather depressingly concluding that we are now nearing the end of the time of scientific discovery.
Meanwhile, my kids were being similarly stimulated by the likes of Winnie the Witch illustrator Korky Paul and his tips on how to do dinosaur portraits of friends and family. Later in the week, as dazzling sunshine turned this verdant valley into one of the most glorious spots on Earth, they sat on the grass watching Christopher Lloyd explain 13.7 billion years of history in one hour. He explained how the advent of trains helped create the third world and, more horrifically, how the ancient Egyptians once sacrificed their children to encourage the rain gods to end a drought.
Despite the array of big ideas, the question I was most often asked was what Rob Lowe looked like up close and whether he'd revealed the secret of his eternal youth. Tragically, he offered no such illumination, though he did admit to sharing a bed with Tom Cruise.
One of the joys of the Hay festival is that it leaves all generations with many more questions than answers; admittedly some more taxing than others. We returned home, legs aching from our daily assault on the Brecon Beacons, brains aching from the assault of ideas and already eagerly awaiting next year's festival.
Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/jun/05/mariella-frostrup-hay-rob-lowe
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