Home is what I bleed for. Apparently.
Mar. 13th, 2008 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI've been away. I went to London: the Big Smoke! Where ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cherylmmorgan met me off the train and led me to the most famous flat in science fiction (221B, of course - apparently it used to be plain 221. I suspect the B may be for Books), where we drank tea and wine and talk with Judith Clute, and were joined by fjm and went out for dinner and suchlike good things.
I stayed overnight withfjm and chilperic, and then spent the next day at Middlesex University Literature Festival, being useful: running a workshop in the morning and then standing in for absent guests and suchlike, and talking to people inbetweentimes. And was knackered by half-past three, and snuck away to Henley. Where I spent the next couple of days reading (when did I last read two and a half books in a day? I truly can't remember...) and eating and drinking, and not much else. Oh, talking, somewhat. And I went for one long walk along the river. Mostly, though, I just felt exceedingly tired and read with my feet up.
And today was a long drag home, to be greeted at the end by lean and hungry Starveling Boyz, who have not been fed! Ever! At all! (This is of course a lie, but they're fairly sure I believe it; I am known to be fairly dimwitted, or why else would I so singularly fail to do what they want when they want it?)
So they have consumed vast quantities of their food, and are now after mine. I have bread, and a dish of olive oil and grape must to dip the bread into. Mac wants the bread, of course, and can't have it; while fending him off, I inadvertently let him get a slurrup of the oil/must mixture. Tee-hee. I suspect that he likes olive oil; I can report categorically that he does not like grape must. The faces! The scaredy-cat fleeing of the evil dish! The crouching in corners and anxiously washing!
Oh, and in other news: I did not write a word of my proper work, but I did write a thousand unexpected words of the first Alexandria story between Birmingham and Darlington today. This is, of course, not about Alexandria: but it is about what Alexandria is about, in my head at least. Exile and distance, cross-contamination, sex and deception and such. And Vikings, apparently. Vikings in Alexandria. Okey-doke...
cherylmmorgan met me off the train and led me to the most famous flat in science fiction (221B, of course - apparently it used to be plain 221. I suspect the B may be for Books), where we drank tea and wine and talk with Judith Clute, and were joined by fjm and went out for dinner and suchlike good things. I stayed overnight with
fjm and chilperic, and then spent the next day at Middlesex University Literature Festival, being useful: running a workshop in the morning and then standing in for absent guests and suchlike, and talking to people inbetweentimes. And was knackered by half-past three, and snuck away to Henley. Where I spent the next couple of days reading (when did I last read two and a half books in a day? I truly can't remember...) and eating and drinking, and not much else. Oh, talking, somewhat. And I went for one long walk along the river. Mostly, though, I just felt exceedingly tired and read with my feet up.And today was a long drag home, to be greeted at the end by lean and hungry Starveling Boyz, who have not been fed! Ever! At all! (This is of course a lie, but they're fairly sure I believe it; I am known to be fairly dimwitted, or why else would I so singularly fail to do what they want when they want it?)
So they have consumed vast quantities of their food, and are now after mine. I have bread, and a dish of olive oil and grape must to dip the bread into. Mac wants the bread, of course, and can't have it; while fending him off, I inadvertently let him get a slurrup of the oil/must mixture. Tee-hee. I suspect that he likes olive oil; I can report categorically that he does not like grape must. The faces! The scaredy-cat fleeing of the evil dish! The crouching in corners and anxiously washing!
Oh, and in other news: I did not write a word of my proper work, but I did write a thousand unexpected words of the first Alexandria story between Birmingham and Darlington today. This is, of course, not about Alexandria: but it is about what Alexandria is about, in my head at least. Exile and distance, cross-contamination, sex and deception and such. And Vikings, apparently. Vikings in Alexandria. Okey-doke...