I began Saturday with an alarm clock related issue. No, not what you’re thinking. One that immobilised me to such an extent that I had to miss my first Bloody Scotland events, only limping in towards the end of the day to collect my press pass. 377 more words
For those of you who have said you wish you were there/here/in Edinburgh, you are no longer alone. Neither am I.
I ran out of time for necessary ‘chores’ on Tuesday, and very – and I mean very very – reluctantly had to decide there was no way I could travel to hear Meg Rosoff talk about Jonathan and the dogs on Tuesday evening. 67 more words
Why do some stories, poems, paintings or performances move us when others don’t? Where does a unique artistic voice come from? I believe it begins with a strong connection to the unconscious. 659 more words