On your marks: BCBF sets off at a pace

Ciao amici. We have returned. For those of you who jetted into La Grassa on Sunday, you may have stumbled upon thousands of sweaty, pained and anxious-looking people running through town. No, this was not the folk struggling to get at the canapés at the chock-a-block PRH Children’s hootenanny at the Carlton (rumours that the bulk of attendees were Roald Dahl sensitivity readers are, at this writing, unconfirmed), but participants in the Bologna Marathon. I would have loved to compete, but I usually stuff myself full with a cocktail of horse steroids and HGH to get me through every Bologna fair—I call this cocktail “the Sir Mo”—and I gather anti-doping puritans might frown at this.

Funnily enough, the Bologna Marathon is what agents are calling the trek out to the shiny new Rights Centre, which seems closer to Modena than Halls 25 and 26. You may be shocked to hear there has been some grumbling from agents about this. Also, most tables weren’t assigned at the Rights Centre beforehand, but on agents’ arrival yesterday—precisely the level of BCBF organisation we have come to expect (and cherish!) over the years. And what better way for agents to bond with clients at their half-hour Monday morning 9 a.m. than spending the first 15 or 20 minutes waiting to get a table?

There has been some grousing about this, too. I’ve said it before in these very pages: hell hath no fury like an agent mildly inconvenienced. Although, the complaining perhaps should be tempered as, to get to the Rights Centre, one passes the sobering and moving Ukraine at War exhibition. Perspective, people, perspective!

Getting back go PRH, I trust that you, like me, have engaged in my favourite pastime this Bologna: Markus Dohle spotting. The former (and, who knows, maybe future) most powerful person in publishing is stalking the halls, planning his next move. Or he could just be a Tomi Ungerer superfan who wanted to take part in the “draw on Tomi” event at the Illustrator’s Survival Corner.

Finally, to the Palazzo Re Enzo for the big bash for Bologna’s 60th, a treat for those who love carb-loading and seemingly never-ending speeches. (British Book Awards 2023 tickets are now on sale, by the way.) But a debate erupted in my circle: can we say Bologna is really 60? Do the pandemic fairs count? It may well be an unsolvable, existential question, but I think I have hit on a formula we can agree on with scientific certitude: saw perennial attendee Klaus Flugge in half and count the rings. I haven’t yet broached this subject with Klaus, but I will attempt to this very afternoon at the Andersen Press stand. All welcome!