Something about being at Hay Festival compels me to sit and scribble. This is what I wrote yesterday.
So here I am back at Hay Festival again. A lively breeze is whipping the tops of the trees, the creaky aluminium-framed tents are protesting and the tall pastel ripple-edged flags are waving as though frantically trying to catch some attention. We are surrounded by green pastures. Continue reading “Hay ho”