The fifth of November: a beautiful autumn day. This was Argyll splendour, last month.
My son is 11 today. Of course, we're making the day all about him, but I will forgive any mother who takes a couple of minutes to think - Wow, X years ago, I gave birth! Well done me! What an crazy night that was, and no one tells you the half of it.
In all the hustle and bustle, I didn't get to blog about my August adventures at the amazing Edinburgh Book Festival. It was great to work on the Throwing Voices project, with Uxue Alberdi from the Basque Country and Scotland's own Rachel Newton and her harp. Rachel has just released a digital EP of tunes inspired by our poems.
Hanging out in the author's yurt was my favourite bit. Can't beat a bit of lit chat with your heroes. Talking to the legendary Carol Ann Duffy was like sunbathing on a warm rock. Perhaps I should have been more terrified, but she was warm and lovely. And Eddie Izzard teetered in, wearing a red dress and heels. Respect.
I got my photo taken by the talented EBF photographer Chris Close. I like to lean on a pillar one Tuesday a month. You can tell.
What else? I was an extra this week for my TV-director brother, John MacLaverty. He is making a documentary about Scottish swearing. Don't tell our mum. I had to be in a crowd scene and someone had to shout out a sweary sentence. Glad it wasn't me. There are limits to my extroversion.
Poetry, of course, can be quite an introverted sport. I've rejoined a poetry night class, to try and write more frequently. Most of my days are taken up with cooking and cleaning and collecting the kids. But that's okay, isn't it? I'd go as far as saying that's vital.
