It’s been a lovely, hot day. I spent a fair chunk of it sitting in my suntrap of a yard, doing a bit of writing and work. Then I made a cuppa and went back out with the latest Paris Review and a parasol that I bought at the music festival last year, so that I could be warm but not burn. It was far and away the most pretentious thing I’ve ever done, I think, and I can be really fecking pretentious. Continue reading “Sunshine and vaginas” →