It is raining or the rain has just ceased, and there is a white slick of sun on the cobbles of Causewayside, a road leading to the South side of Edinburgh. Fine Georgian houses lead off in the other direction by the smidge of green of St Patrick’s Square. I wish I could show you it, or show you the reindeer and the mountains and the cliffside castle in the lashing rain I saw on my birthday – but my camera batter is at home, and I am again in a Starbucks. Blog narrative always becomes a little more piecemeal for me, without the image. I wonder why that is? I’m fine enough typing away at the current book, finding the colours there are bright as vegetable dyes and those determined summer days that are rare here.
The weather mooches between grey scuds and blistering blue. People in thin tee-shirts and warm jackets are walking and crossing past one another with their heads down through this latest drizzle. The open door is letting in the sneaky dibs of rain when the wind gusts.
I’m in here to write a book review, and to try to connect a little more. It’s been hard to keep up – when the internet is back at home I’ll have entry after entry of blogs to read – I miss them, but have thrown myself into reading. The latest is Fast Machine by Elizabeth Ellen. I’ve brought it along in case the need arises. It’s that kind of book, the kind you feel better after reading. Nourishing fictions, utterly lacking patness or patronisation or self-satisfaction. Words that are connected and connect with little latched fingers.
So when the internet is back, I’ll have reviews to share. Concrete photos and stories of the chaos moving 10 minutes up the road has caused. Until then, endurance. Writing in private. And of course, books, books, books.