Day Eighteen... Busy

511 words.

I wrote those words freezing in the park in Brighton's Regency Square, blasted by the wind coming off the sea. I spent the afternoon at a series of publishing parties, drinking far too much free white wine. By the time the party on the pier kicked off at 9pm, I was 'refreshed' to say the least. A quick scoot on the ghost train and another drink or two inside before I had to rush back to my B&B, pick up my laptop and head straight to the reading café at the Royal Albion. I made it with seconds to spare and was pleasantly surprised to see a decent amount of people waiting to hear me read (these things can go either way... in the past I've read to a room containing six people, two of which were staff and three of which were known to me).

I read the prologue and the first chapter from Loss of Separation and it seemed to go down quite well. In the bar afterwards I enjoyed a good chat with some of the audience, most of it to do with flying and how safe it is when it goes well and how dangerous it is when it goes wrong. I don't want it to stop me from travelling, but I'm relieved when I know I've got a long, long wait before my next flight. I fly to Dortmund at the end of April...