Toes

Another day spent at the book festival and my authors so nervous I thought one of them was going to cry. I wanted to lean across and put my arm around her, and hoped the audience couldn't sense her discomfort. I really felt for her. I've been that squirming figure wishing I was elsewhere. One of the benefits of getting older is that self-consciousness dwindles and confidence grows. When you're young and beautiful the self-confidence is on the floor, and when you're older and don't care what you look like, you like to let your petticoats show and you don't care who sees.

Spoke to Rosh on the phone in the car park of the Sage about her first week at Cambridge. It's so lovely having her so near after having been so far away for three months. I feel like she hasn't left home at all, but is just in a library somewhere (which I guess is the definition of Cambridge).

When I finally got home I collapsed in front of the fire with a glass of wine and noticed that someone has painted the tiny toenails of my African girl bright blue. At first I thought I was seeing things. How long have they been like that I wonder?