A Well Kept Secret

I visited my Mum today who lives just outside Stratford-upon-Avon. We did our usual, moseyed on into town, did some shopping, which as far as my mum is concerned involves a quick whizz around the M&S Food Hall, stopping only to pick up a few tops in assorted colours on the way through the women's department. The tops will stay in the carrier bag until next week when she'll have decided that they'll have to go back and we'll exchange them for another selection of cheerily coloured tops. We're well versed in this routine.

Then we went off for lunch and foregoing our normal haunts, of either the M&S Cafe or Edward Moons, we went instead to the garden centre which made a very pleasant change.

That's where I picked up a brochure about Stratford's Literary Festival which is taking place next week. They kept that quiet. Ooh, it does look enticing and now I'm desperately trying to wangle a way of getting to one of the events. I've discarded my first idea of abandoning the family for a week, staying with mum and going to them all, as I'm supposing that might not go down too well with George and the little people, but maybe I could get to one of the workshops. There's one with an author and an editor from Mills and Boon on Wednesday afternoon, but then again if I go to the workshop with Katie Fforde on Thursday morning, then I could dash along to the talk by agent Antony Harwood in the afternoon. In the hour's break between the two, I could nip into Jones and try on these shoes I spotted in the window. Now that sounds like a very sensible idea. Must see what I can arrange tomorrow.