Last night I went to a poetry reading in the Brighton Museum. There is something very exciting about being there when everyone has gone home. The objects in the glass cases look as if they might get up and walk around.. The poems were good too, and I think I might do the course which is called Museum Tales when it starts again in January. Daughter J and I sat talking at the end and I had a secret wish that we might get locked in for the night, but we were ushered out into the rainy night.
The Brighton family have all been at a sort of alternative pop festival called Shambala, whioch was miles away in Northampton. I thought they were mad to go all that way but it sounded good. Son in law D was the organiser for children`s activities in a field, Tiger did gymnastics, J and M learned to sing sea shanties, they did Tai Chi and yoga, and great grand baby loved it too. Apparently there was one big tent called Baby Bath Time with buckets of soapy water, so it was not like dirty muddy Glastonbury or suchlike at all. I find it all very interesting but I would not like it myself.
Everyone has moaned about the long wet windy summer but I have enjoyed it (apart from poor sister J`s terrible flood) I have not got all hot and bothered, I have not had to toil over watering the plant pots in my back yard and have played lots of good games of Scrabble indoors with my friends and relations when we were all over in the Isle of Wight.