There is a thing near Westport they call the “Rolling Sun”. Which has been the ruin of many a poor, newly published author. And God, I know I’m one.
Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. My inaugural visit to the Rolling Sun Book Festival last weekend was in fact very pleasant. Apart from a couple of late-ish nights, it was not at all ruinous. Westport itself was lovely. So was the House of the Rolling Sun, aka Clew Bay Hotel, the festival headquarters.
As for the late nights, one of those was in Matt Molloy’s pub, where the great man himself held court on flute amid a session at the back.
And after a wet start to the weekend, even the weather was unusually benign for the Atlantic coast.
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