How long would I have to go without blogging to officially stop existing? Sometimes I feel like we're all funny little spiders, compulsively spinning a web of words, trying to attach ourselves to the world with it.Other times, I just feel like sleeping for a month. The Lewes Live Literature festival is over for another year, and by my own reckoning I didn't give ANYONE the wrong change for their tickets/drinks this time round, which makes it a success as far as I'm concerned. It was still exhausting though. I'm not sure why people should expect you to make cultured conversation at the same time as directing someone to the toilet, answering the phone, opening bottles of beer, tearing the right bit off tickets, AND trying to stop poets from getting too drunk to speak.
It's a funny season now. Not cold enough to crank up the heating and stay in for a week, but too grey and wet to make going outside remotely enjoyable. I desperately needed to buy new shoes yesterday, but after the fourth time squeaking out of my damp trainers and pulling on a too-tight shoe over my equally damp socks, I was completely miserable. I always wish I could skip November and get straight onto Christmas, which no matter how grown-up and cynical I become, I still can't help loving. Sending cutesy cards to distant friends may be a pointless and even downright wasteful gesture, but oh, the joy of licking a festive stamp and posting off your cheesy sentiments to the four corners of the earth...
True Love and High Adventure
