We had lunch at some trendy burger joint, we ate in the sunny street at the least wobbly table No.26. We chose chicken so we appeared greener than the red meat people surrounding us all covered in red meat. The sun shone and the "large" wines were served in a tumbler. I ate chips and mayo and knew I'd now had enough food for the rest of the day. It's that easy in Edinburgh.
Then we attended a writer's course where we (about a dozen wheeze) learned how to write all over again. My utterances were few, my writings fewer but I had some quiet, internal fun and a beetroot and chocolate brownie. I decided that I might be boring at times despite my best efforts not to be.
Then it was Taiko drum theatre time. The Beat Girls danced and pranced and thumped the skins. The performance was solid but the audio was thin and weedy due to the tented location. Now I have a certificate in clearly hearing clearer I can say that sort of thing. Back to bricks and mortar next year please.
More wondering, bumping into people, watching people, avoiding people and admiring fast food from a safe distance. Looking for a seat. Finding a seat. Realizing the seat wasn't really as good or useful as you hoped. Into the book festival's rainy and sodden inner sanctum. Celebs abound, they're signing piles of books and chatting and smiling. Writing can be hard work when it's not being rewarding and esoteric. Then the storm broke upon us all and we fizzled into a hushed submission, no power, no hope. I learned power cuts are new to the book people, they were bereft of plans and solutions so we remained in the dark. Eventually some things happened. Soon we were on a rainy bus home and a mild sense of panic arose within me on that crowded vehicle filled with ex-festival revellers. At the time I couldn't explain and didn't try. Things looked to be to be turning ugly and shitty for us and I wasn't wrong, they quickly did.