I walked out on it on Friday morning. I don't miss it, and I have the photos to remember the holiday.
Last night I went to the Word Factory's June event. It was a warm night, Pride night, and the event was over-subscribed. The doors were open, and all sorts passed by, lost in the lanes and closed streets of Soho, curious about the people in the doorway, the concentration in the room, about what exactly was going on in The Society Club.
NOT to detract from Keith Ridgway and Mary Costello, if you've never seen Kevin Barry interviewed or reading his work, do*.
He read us 'Ox Mountain Death Song', a short story in 17 parts, published in The New Yorker last year. The crowded room in turn laughed, looked pensive, nodded, wry smiled, laughed, and clapped long enough for Cathy Galvin to say, 'We can't really call encore, can we?'
I'm sure many of us would have liked to.
I'm back in the writing swing of things after my holiday. Though it is Sunday. And sort of sunny. And I've got all these souvenirs to sample, so...
|Spoils from Sat night in Soho|
|Looks like Sunday|
*There's plenty of clips to choose from, but 'The Apparitions' is a fine one to start with.