Bank Holiday

The rains have come. At long last. The crops will not die. The animals will have food for another month. The humans are scarce. I had a good night's sleep. What more can a writer ask for? Don't go there. The blogs are taking over my life. That's a good sign. At least there's something to put up everyday. Only poor old Struggling Author Story is getting the scraps. The Hay Festival is up and running. I used to love going there. I have just one little bitch. Why are there so many celeb authors as opposed to authors who have become celebs through their writing? Can't we have some more of the likes of Graham Greene, John le Carre, Christopher Isherwood and Daphne du Maurier to name just a few. Dostoyevsky would be a good one. Here's a thought: let's have a fake festival with the big names from the past. Ah well, dream on, babes. It was always the bookshops that got me at Hay. For someone who cannot pass a secondhand bookstall without kissing goodbye to the rest of the day, Hay was a bleedin' disaster. I would need a second life to give it my full attention. Back to the fantasy. Is it going to be the children's book or the global warming book. Who dies next?