Well, sort of. Tomorrow I head off to England (where, fortunately, COVID has apparently been abolished so that’s all right then) for my book event. My lovely publisher has actually organised the whole trip – train tickets, hotel, the works; I’ve even been sent a little itinerary so I know when and where I’ll be for the whole 24 hours which makes me feel extremely grand. All that’s left for me to do is decide which bit to read and pick an outfit.
Ah.
Two years of lockdown on top of 12 years of living in the middle of nowhere and working from home (on top of being only vaguely au fait with the concept of accessorising in the first place) has left me somewhat struggling on that front. What I haven’t been gardening in recently, the moths have got at, and what the moths have left alone, has had too many close encounters with a bike chain for civilised society. I’m working on the assumption that people who go to bookshops events don’t hold authors to particularly high sartorial standards but I do feel I need to look as if I’ve made an effort, even if it’s just adjusted for being me.*
Anyway, after ransacking my wardrobe and trying on everything I could find that looked vaguely smart, I think I’ve got something that will work both on the Brompton and in front of a paying audience. So now all I have to do is remember to pack my author’s copy of the book, get myself to the train station on time tomorrow morning, and hope I can wow them all with my words, if not my fashion sense.
I do wonder how much thought male authors have to put into this sort of thing though.
* Back when I was seventeen I attended an interview for the English Speaking Union and the feedback I got was ‘We did feel she could have made a bit more of an effort with her appearance.’ The response from my teacher was ‘I told them you probably were making an effort’. I mean, I’d worn a skirt and everything.