The last week of July was the hottest week of the year. Cambridge, my current hometown, was the hottest place in the country. Fortunately (for I don’t deal well with heat) I wasn’t there. I was on the Isle of Wight, which was a good ten degrees cooler, attending Ventnor Fringe festival, and mostly hanging around at the Book Bus.
I did a little better than last year, making it to at least three ticketed performances as well as waiting for the buskers to come to the bus, and to me. But it was also very good to lie on my back in the churchyard watching the swifts high up in the blue sky, and eat chips with my brothers down on the seafront, and watch a thunderstorm from inside the bus, and finish off one of the stories I’d meant to finish off.
In a parallel universe, I sit in Ventnor Exchange and drink coffee and Belgian beer and write books. Sometimes I do that in this universe, too. Maybe I’ll do more of that next year.