Day one of the Melbourne Writers Festival was an exercise in orienteering, getting the lay of the land and adjusting the mental radar to the intensity of inputs. Festivals are a bit like arriving in a new country, an affront to the senses, everything you see, every person you meet reflects on your acquisition of understanding about this new strange place. And from the get go this seemed a place of grey hair and foreign accents.
From the demountable box office box near the Flinders Street entrance to the Atrium my first stop was The Morning Fix at Feddish on the outer edge of Fed Square looking over River Terrace and the Yarra. Note: stairs up to the Square, stairs down and then a few steps up again, by the time I reached the destination I was feeling like a mountain goat.
