It must have been a good weekend as it’s taken me over a week to recover. Sometimes I just sort of forget that I am no longer as young as I was and should stick to regular bedtimes and moderate booze consumption, but even though I suffer a little more in the aftermath, I usually find it was all worth it.
Last Friday was our Best of British slam at Sh! As usual, we had a lovely time and, as usual, there was a certain amount of panic and chaos earlier in the day, so special thanks to the fabulous Helen J Perry for stepping up and doing a second reading to fill out the bill. Also a hug and a Well Done to Lola Sparkles, who made her reading-slam debut, and hugs to Anna Sky who came all the way down from the frozen North to join us.
There’s no better way to wind down after an evening of erotic fiction than by having some actual naughty fun, so I took myself off to a party where a great deal of rope and whackings ensued. And did not head for home until about 7am, so it’s perhaps unsurprising that I fell asleep on the train and went to Hassocks by mistake. But I couldn’t actually sleep off my exertions just yet, as it was St George’s Day, which meant an afternoon of Morris dancing and quantities of cider.
Sunday a day of rest? Not quite, as it was time for London Below in Camden. Due to various annoying circumstances I had to get there on a succession of buses, which meant I didn’t start my trading day in the best of tempers, but the afternoon soon improved. This month it was at the Barfly, which meant plenty of passing trade, and I did rather like the handy shelf on which I could display my favourite five anthologies
.
A little bookselling, some hugs and gossip, and a bit more cider made for a cheering day, and when I finally made it home I was wrecked but contented.
So really, the only smart thing to do this weekend was engage in further rope, whacking, Morris dancing and cider. Well, wouldn’t you?