You find me this afternoon, dear reader, writing from my new outdoor office.
I’m mid holiday, we’ve finished the pergola and the decking.
It’s 35 degrees and hot so I’m in my wet bikini (imagine me slim please) with a large glass of icy water which I hope will be replaced by a St Clair Savignon Blanc within the hour.
I am a third of the way through my reading list for this year’s writers’ festival.
I’m chairing the bloggers’ forum and for once feel a tiny bit qualified to be amongst the literati.
Of course all the bloggers on my panel have also written books. Show offs.
It’s the advanced course because I did another course this time last year with Margot Leitman, not that I consider myself advanced at all.
I was a bit nervous this year.
Last year, well I was a n00b wasn’t I so it didn’t really matter if I was rubbish… but now… I’m “advanced”.
There are expectations.
And everyone else is so good, including my partner in crime when it comes to storytelling – Feline.
Still, four more lessons to go before we begin the show at The Blue Room. There’s hope.
In fact I’m hoping to get inspired by the fabulous Ira Glass who is in town tonight. I bought my tickets MONTHS ago and they’ve been pinned to my noticeboard winking at me ever since.
Ira is the host of This American Life, my favourite podcast, in fact I’m listening to it as I type.
He is another fabulous storyteller.
I wonder if I’ll get to meet him?
Should I take my radio to get him to sign it? My ipod?
A sad little groupie, that’s what I am.
Still it could be worse.
I could be a fan of Justin Beiber. (is that how you spell his name?)