IF ANYONE had told me 48 hours ago I’d be sitting here nursing a hangover after attending my first Sunday Times Oxford Literary Festival event...I’d have ordered a stiff drink.

But pride comes before the fall and I readily admit I eagerly slipped into a haze of gin at 7.30pm on Saturday to better my mind. Of course, there were warning signs – the festival opening ‘do’ was eloquently entitled A Genteel Tipple Through Gin in Literature.

And Clue Two, which I bet even Morse and Lewis would have overlooked, read: ‘All drinks included’.

Still, it started innocently enough; Hendrick’s Gin ‘ambassadors’ David Piper and Duncan McRae welcomed us into the hallowed Christ Church (yes, the very hall on which Harry Potter’s Hogwart’s Hall is based). Admission was £15 and truth is, I’d have paid that just to sit beneath its vaulted roof. However, I’d have eagerly paid twice that – and then some – had I known how much gin we’d sink in the name of great literature.

Surprisingly, the audience comprised as many under-30s as it did 50-plus, and one woman, the ‘vivacious’ Gayle Richardson (and maybe she did twist my arm), had travelled from Seattle to attend the festival (her tickets for the week measured as thick as Lord of The Rings). Everyone seemed game to embrace the spirit of the occasion.

David Piper, our immaculately attired host with villainous Victorian moustache, described it as a ‘gentle totter, swagger, sway’ through great gin and great literature, and an hour later, I can honestly say I appreciated the first.

I like Stephen King, John Grisham, Nick Hornby, all beach reads, but as the gin slipped down and my view of the world became increasingly rosy, I found myself bandying about names like Dickens, Shakespeare, Byron, Defoe and Amis. A few good anecdotes too.

For instance, the ancient Egyptians believed gin could treat tapeworms. So the late great Maria Callas, who had reputedly infested herself with these worms to stay slim, refused to touch the spirit in case it killed them (try telling your gran that just before the Sunday roast...).

All in all then, a baptism of literary fire I could happily endure as a daily dose.

As I write this, I’m off to a talk at the Sheldonian at which British director Sir Alan Parker talks about his life in film. Can’t wait. When I failed my exams, all of them, in 1980, I consoled myself with Fame at the ABC cinema in Plymouth. For that brief salvation alone, I want to shake the man’s hand.

Today, I’m tempted by Art and Science: Where the Two Collide, by Sir Roger Penrose and artist Matthew Collings in Christ Church at 4pm (£10).

  • For more details visit oxfordliteraryfestival.org