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It is raining cats, dogs, and buckets of oatmeal outside. I am huddled over the computer, knocking back lapsang souchong and wishing that the chemical compounds that elicit that gorgeous, smooth, sexy smoke were as potently warming as whiskey. For it is cold. Not just ‘light cardigan chilly’: oh no. It is expletive-ly cold. It is heating on and internal lights on and dash to the car with an umbrella and no cycling or picnicking or making hay while the sun shines or making love while the hay shines cold.
But, with the internet like a flame to warm me, I am investigating hotter climes. I have been drooling over
fitforafemme. It seems to be a blog well-known on the queer blog circuit (and one of those blogs I agonize over commenting on, and get all shy and go back to just lurking admiringly). Her clothes are so gorgeous, and LOOK, it is HOT where she lives. Oh for the love of all that is holy what would be so bad about sending a wee pinch of sun to Edinburgh?

I am, however, going to brave the rain for a garden party on Saturday – specifically, the ForgeoftheWordsmiths, a new Scottish writing collective/organiser (for whom I desperately want to write and perform) who are braving the rain to re-enliven Scottish writing and to stoke your creative coals. I am particularly looking forward to wrapping my wee ears around the nuances of the accent. I miss Scottish accents so much when I am around, and am extremely aware of how ‘un-Scottish’ I sound (I’m half English, OK? And a singer! We standardize our vowels!!!!!! ). Ahem.

Thirdly, and finally, I am beginning to write again, after a year of only scraps of imagination pushed onto the back of envelopes with a distracted hand. I am fascinated mainly by queer interpretations of and relationships to suburbia at the moment, and am on Google street view and on a googling-spree, finding such bitchy gems as, this piece by Matt Terhune.

All of this research is very worthy, and serves to plug the gap left after what feels like a MILLION YEARS of tertiary education, but let’s not fuck about here: we all know I would rather be at the beach.