LBF and 21st Century publishing

Back to ExCel today for the Book Fair. I've learned the transport trick now, the Docklands Light Railway all the way from Bank. It's driverless fun, up and down steep slopes, high level views of new London all the way.
Next time I'll take a sandwich. Books may be the business of the LBF but all the real queues were for lunch.
What's a writer doing at the Book Fair? Wandering and watching. Visits to stands of publishers past and present - Transita, Heart of Albion and SImon & Schuster UK. A quality freebie, Sara Paretsky signing me a copy of her new novel 'Fire Sale'. And a high-class panel discussion on publishing in the 21st century - Tim Hely Hutchinson presiding, Victoria Barnsley as CEO of Harper Collins; Stephen Page, CEO of Faber, there as the independent; Gill Coleridge as the agent; and Alan Giles, CEO of HMV hence Waterstones, as the retailing voice.
Biggest surprise for everyone was Giles's statement that central buying only accounts for 20% of Waterstone's sales. (Since my 'Slippery When Wet' is high on their category B list for buying, I don't mind that much of the rest of the buying comes from central's recommendations.) Victoria Barnsley's rather excited about Google dispersing all text, is more in fear of Amazon sidestepping publishers to produce their own content. Stephen Page (as he did at a panel last year) is looking forward to more publishing mergers, so publishers gain the clout not to need to discount so heavily. Gil Coleridge foresees everything being affected ever more deeply by the interent, and Barnsley waxed lyrical about Sony's new digital book prototype.
Alan Giles reckoned there was room for the small publishers, fast on their feet catering for niche markets, and for the big boys, but woe betide all those who fall in between.
I have notions still of starting my own literary imprint - hence my wandering really. I'm not discouraged, though there was scarce a model available among the miles of stands. Those presses of note seemed subsumed in group stands so offered no sense of their own identity.
Now back to the quiet, steady, private life of writing.