I 'did' a craft fair today. I made some stuff. I borrowed a mannequin to display my vast collection of funky-felt brooches and had a lovely morning.
I watched the lady with the wooden bowls get more and more frustrated as people dared to walk past her dibbers. I taught a friend how to turn the heel on her sock. I enjoyed the endless (50p per go) cups of tea supplied by our school's friendly army of mums. I enjoyed making the stuff I didn't sell (look out potential Christmas present recipients of my acquaintance) and I was interested to see what sold.
Things I thought would fly off the table sat amongst their forlorn counterparts. I realised that what I like is not, necessarily, quite what others like!
But that's OK. I can hold my head up high but I couldn't do it as a day job. It's far too much like hard work. It's back to the writing for me, methinks, writing and a bit of workshopping and a bit of art. It doesn't really sound like a business plan.
On an entirely different matter - it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 41. I'm not forty now, I'm fortysomething. I think I prefer it. 41 definitely feels better than 39. Ask me again, though, when I'm 46. That might be a little trickier.