Guardian HQ visited the future this weekend. The newspaper group hosted its inaugural ‘Open Weekend’ — a ‘festival of debates, workshops, music, comedy, poetry, food and fun’, according to the blurb. There was live music (banjos and interpretative dance, naturally). A farmers’ market ran along the adjacent canal and a selection of seedlings for sale from the garden centre. There were also some talks about urgent issues, poetry readings and exclusive access to the editorial offices. The Guardian loses £1 million a week by some estimates: alternative income must be found. It’s the same story for most media organisations these days.
Writers are good value at this sort of junket. Ahdaf Soueif, Robert Harris, Jo Shapcott, Ruth Pradel and Jez Butterworth all gave their two pennies’ worth. Butterworth, the author of the smash hit play Jerusalem, was very good company — intelligent, witty and slightly ‘ladish’. But the star turn was Ian McEwan, who gave a self-effacing performance.
McEwan told numerous stories against himself — including the time when he was buttonholed by Tony Blair at Tate Modern.
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