One of my lovely new online writer friends suggested to me that we might meet up some time at some Literary Festival or other, as we are, at the moment, only friends via Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads and email. I thought this was a most excellent idea; I'd love to meet in person some of my fellow Twitterers!
I mentioned this idea to my husband. He said. "A Literary Festival? What happens at one of those, then? Do you all sit around on the grass, smoking dope and swigging cider while someone reads from 'Jane Eyre'? Do you stand in your wellies in the mud, holding up your cigarette lighter in the dark, during the first chapter of 'On The Road'?
You can just see it, can't you?
"I missed the last half of 'Great Expectations' because I was chucking up after eating some under-cooked lentils I bought from one of those veggie food stands."
"I'm getting too old for these gigs, I'd rather listen to 'Catcher in the Rye' on audio book than wade around in the mud for three days"
"I thought 'A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu' was rubbish live. Didn't enjoy it half as much as I did the book."
"Aye, but you were pissed when the fella was reading it. You were trying to chat that bird in the denim shorts up. The one with the lemonade bottle full of vodka, remember?"
"Nah, Sebastian Faulk's 'Birdsong' ain't half as good as it was last year. Anyone want a bang on this? It makes it sound better, honest."
"Who's headlining this year? Some dude in glasses reading the best of W Somerset Maugham? Far out!"
Can't wait, sounds like a blast!