Tutankhamen

Well, it seems that the curse of Mr Burns has at last been lifted! The readers' groups event at Fyvie Castle went off OK. Everyone seemed to have a good time. No one threw anything. And only one person nodded off. OK, so she was sitting in the front row, so that was a tad distracting, but everyone who remained awake were very nice.

I think they were mostly stunned by my choice of attire for the evening: a sort of linen suit thing that makes me look like a bearded Michael Palin who's let himself go. They were expecting some sort of hairy scruffbag in a holey jumper and muddy boots. Possible with trousers on, but you never can tell...

Plus the castle is a great venue to do events like that in. I'm not sure if they illuminate it every evening, but it was quite the little ego-stroke to drive up to the front door, pretending it was all lit up for me! Me, I tell you: ME!!! Bwahahahahaha!

*ahem*

There was wine, there was shortbread, there were enough sandwiches to feed the whole of Fraserburgh for a month, and we even had music courtesy of a wee ceilidh band from Turriff Academy. Very good they were too.

And unlike the Scottish Book Association's dreaded haggis and humiliation fest, I didn't die on my arse. Hurrah!

Still, there's always next time ;}#

Labels: