Too tired

This is just a very short , very late-at-night post to say that I attended the Edinburgh International Book Festival, and I enjoyed myself, and I did my solo event and the other one with Ian Rankin, and they were both delightful. The signings were amazingly efficiently run, and the one-item-per-person rule was on the one hand, cruel, and on the other hand meant that on the first day I signed for 500 people in 3 hours.

(This was my favourite Fringe show so far.)

It's strange being somewhere with someone, and stranger being somewhere with someone who is working a lot of the time. I'm way behind on my email, and will go off the radar in a few days to just go off and write and walk and rest and recover.

Sad news: my cat Pod died, in her sleep, of old age yesterday. Lorraine blogs about it here. Pod was a bit mad, but she loved Lorraine (which is good). Right now I find I'm more worried about Hermione, her sister, alone in the library...

Tomorrow it's Amanda's Edinburgh gig. Then on Monday she'll be trailing after me for a couple of days while I go and check out locations and suchlike.

Labels: Cats, Edinburgh, posts you write when you really ought to be in bed