Perhaps it’s a good thing my attention has been on other things this summer, so I’ve not thought a great deal or prepared much for the Edinburgh International Book Festival, which starts this morning. Or perhaps not. We’ll see as the weeks go on. I should be ready to hit Charlotte Square on Wednesday, all things being equal.
I have written my traditional list of wants, and then pruned until I have what looks like possibles, allowing for no double booking as well as for the odd day off. Tickets have been – mostly – arranged, although I am no school, yet. Haven’t even applied to be. I might.
They are offering live watching online for some of the most popular events, for which I imagine tickets sold out very early. That’s a nice idea, but won’t work for the one I had to ditch, as I can’t watch while at another event. I’ll have to hope that later viewing will be possible.
Dodo’s parents should be able to see Ian Rankin at long last. There were three of us poised to grab tickets on the first day, and someone (not me) was successful. I think they should just clone Ian and put him on a couple of times a day. I’m sure that wouldn’t be too much.
I seem to have an interview lined up with someone, so I should really get my thinking cap on and decide what to talk about. I should also make sure I have time to read some hitherto unread books, but that’s what trains are for, right?
At least you have no cause to worry about my bookfest notebook. I found just the right one only the other day. It’s pink, and quite irrestistible.