Coming Up: Blue Metropolis International Literary Festival

Fans of Colm Toibin will be delighted to hear that the Irish writer will receive this year's Blue Met International Literary Grand Prize at the Blue Met festival's 15th version.  He's a fine writer:  I particularly like his The South and The Story of the Night. 

He's been at Blue Met before, too, and therein hangs a tale.  It was one of the first Blue Mets when the festival was being run by the visionary Linda Leith and a band of (mostly) volunteers.  A friend and I were prevailed upon to pick Toibin up at the airport, which was exciting stuff, even though at the time I'd not read anything by him.  My friend went into greet him at the Arrivals, and I stayed with the car, jumping out to open the trunk when they appeared with his suitcase.

Ever polite, he didn't seemed to be fazed by his entusiastic but unprofessional welcoming committee, and took his place in the back seat.  All went well, with my friend pointing out the landmarks we were passing until suddenly an alarm went off.  I was sure it wasn't anything to do with car--we always buy the cheapest models without frills of that sort--and since we were barreling down the freeway in heavy traffic, there was no place ot stop to investigate.

Conversation stalled as each of us trying to figure out what was going on, until finally he laughed: "My clock," he said.  "It has to be my alarm clock." 

So we continued into town, just letting the damn thing ring. When we got to the hotel, he quickly bid us goodbye, and went inside to do something about the noise.

 I've often wondered whether my friend and I should be proud of the incident: given that Toibin is gay, I suppose there aren't very many women who have been disturbed by his alarm clock.