I'm Not Here...
... I'm actually here. I know. Hay-on-Wye isn't what I expected either and it feels odd blogging from a cafe at a literary festival. At first, they wouldn't let me in unless I covered up, but since it's cold and raining I really couldn't care less. I've not had a sniff of a famous name and, to add insult to injury, a car which I swear was driven by A.A. Gill cut me off at a corner and made me drop my manuscript in a puddle. It's ruined. I suppose nobody will even think of reading 300 pages of soggy wit unless it's written by David Baddiel.
I'll be heading home this evening but I just wanted to say that the Thonglateer has not forgotten you.
I'll see you all tomorrow when it will be thongs at dawn.
2 comments:
Okay so it's dawn. Where are the thongs?
I've been reading about Hay-on-Wye all weekend, ad nauseam; check out the Fiction Bitch's report over on the Tart of Fiction.
I'm not surprised about AA Gill. Next time you'll have to arrange so that you're one of the speaking authors! "Thongs and Dales" the True Story of a Welsh Stripper" sounds good.
Oh, Ms. Baroque, I'm sorry you were waiting for me at dawn. You should have known I meant that in the non-literal sense. I never get up before 9. And this week I've just been so busy with the proof reading that I'm hardly getting time to even iron my thongs, let alone post here...
I love the title of the novel. I'll seriously think of using it.
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