For a while I suspected Keren David of having walked off with the lid to my biscuit tin. But it was just the usual thing with me putting it somewhere unusual and then neither remembering nor seeing terribly well. Biscuits now have a roof over their little heads again. As she left, Keren pointed out that she hadn’t succumbed to even one biscuit.
You will have worked out by now that Keren called round yesterday. It was third time lucky for us, with her two earlier Manchester trips being far too full for anything extra on the side.
Keren came to do an event at Reddish Vale College, because that’s where one of her most fervent fans is a student, and he had badgered his teacher to invite Keren. As you do. Teacher gave in. As you sometimes do. So Keren came and she talked and was most likely a success. (She couldn’t very well say so herself.)
Braving Stockport taxis in the school run period, Keren came over to Bookwitch Towers. Bearing gifts. A signed proof of Lia which is due in August, and the perfect fridge magnet which I’m so proud to have sitting next to my red elk. Though Keren threatened to change so much of her book that I will probably have to read it twice. Shouldn’t be allowed. The changing.
En route for the Wirral, Keren decided she could stay longer than she had first thought, so we had all the time in the world to chat. Did an interview over the toasted teacakes, leaving my poor guest to pour her own tea. One day I will be a good hostess. Or maybe not.
The photographer arrived mid-tea and started shooting. We now have a surfeit of hands. Photographer says she likes hands. And once I’d switched off the recording, we got down to saying ‘honest’ things about books and whatever. Luckily I have forgotten every word of that already.
When Keren really, really had to leave, I walked her to the station. All two minutes of it. The distance is only matched by the lack of an open ticket office, which is exotic for a Londoner. We aim to please. Some of the time.