Tales from the author's yurt

I flew up to Edinburgh yesterday and checked into my hotel - The Carlton on North Bridge. On the bus from the airport and walking up from Waverley Station I was struck by what a fantastic city Edinburgh is. I certainly can't think of another British city to match it for scale and grandeur.

I did a really well attended Amnesty event in the afternoon in which writers read the work of persecuted writers from around the world. I read the poems of Tasmila Nasrin.

In the evening I went for a meal with other Bloomsbury authors at the festival. It was a chance to meet Celia Rees (and her husband) and Sally Grindley, and to renew my acquaintance with Mark Walden whose H.I.V.E books have been a big hit with my son.

I made the mistake of allowing Mark to persuade me to hit the bar with him afterwards until about 2 in the morning. At least I had the foresight not to actually drink anymore (tempting though their range of malt whiskeys was), because I felt completely wrecked when I awoke after a night listening to the various whoops and peals of laughter coming from the street outside my hotel room.

My event went well though. I met Bloomsbury publicist Ian Lamb in the author's yurt (yes - author's yurt) at about 10.30. Hanif Kureishi was standing in the doorway at one point and I was very jealous of the queue of people snaking round Charlotte Square for his event.

I was really impressed by how well organised it all was. I had a really good crowd who all listened attentively and then asked lots of good questions. I read 'Climb Not' from Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror'.

I then signed a few books before going for a wander around Edinburgh and then back to the hotel to pick up my bag and head off to the airport to catch my plane to Stansted. I hope I'll be invited back next year.

Edinburgh here I come

I went to see my Swedish dentist today to see how my teeth have improved. They have improved - but not so much that he does not recommend pulling one out and doing surgery on my gums. I expressed a little concern over the pain involved. 'There would be no pain,' he said. 'You will feel us pulling and tearing, but there will be no pain.' Well that's alright then.

I'm getting my stuff ready for Edinburgh, trying to decide what to wear. I have a bad track record when it comes to packing my own case. I have a habit of leaving some vital item behind.

My spot is at 11.30 in the morning and it's quite hard to do spooky at 11.30 in the morning. I can be quite scary at that time, but not in a good way. I'm just fascinated to see how the whole thing works and excited by the chance to meet some other Bloomsbury authors. I fly up tomorrow lunchtime and I'm back again about the same time Sunday.

For now I leave you with a creature who, unlike me, has enjoyed the wet weather in my back garden. That's about as handsome as a slug gets, I reckon. . .

Rainbathing

I drove from one side of England to the other yesterday and never saw the sun once. I went to Lyme Regis while I was in Somerset and sat watching my son dig a hole in the sand surrounded by people who switched from swimsuits to anoraks with practiced ease and speed. At one point I saw two people 'sunbathing' sitting on deckchairs in matching anoraks. It was an almost quintessentially English seaside holiday scene.

Corpse fishing

I have just got back from a couple of days in Somerset and opened my inbox to find a message from Adrian Downie at Bloomsbury under the title 'corpse fishing'. It turns out to hold a link to an early version of a game we had talked about to go on the Tales of Terror from the Black Ship website. If you haven't seen Adrian's fantastic work on the Tales of Terror website follow the link on the left of the page and have a look.

The game made me laugh, though that maybe wasn't Adrian's intention. I have a fairly dark sense of humour, mind you. Anything with the instruction 'Hook the corpses, avoid the snails' was bound to set me off. I'll have to give some thought as to what we can put on this new site.

I also had an email from Madeleine Stevens at Bloomsbury showing me the paperback covers for Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror. Here are the inside covers:

Happy stupid people

I have been doing a blitz on my office over the last few days. Having come to the (almost) end of Tales of Terror from the Tunnel's Mouth, it seemed like a good time to clear the decks before really getting to grips with Ghosts, my next project.

I never did get to meet up with Chris Riddell on Friday. His journey was disrupted by engineering works and we ran out of time. I hope I'll get to see him in Norfolk whilst he is on his August break. Apart from anything else I will want him to sign replacement copies of some of my son's books ruined in our leak. Chris has given him lots of books over the years and they are a special part of his collection.

There was one of those questionnaire things in the Guardian magazine yesterday. I can't say I had ever heard of Slavoj Zizek and reading his questionnaire, I'm not sure I want to actually meet him, but some of the answers did amuse me. For example. . .

Q: What makes you depressed?
A: Seeing stupid people happy.

Q: How do you relax?
A: Listening again and again to Wagner

Q: What is your favourite smell?
A: Nature in decay, like rotten trees.

Q: What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
A: That life is a stupid, meaningless thing that has nothing to teach you.

The dreadful weather continues

The rest of my advance copies of the US edition of Tales of Terror from the Black Ship arrived today, making publication seem very close - which is very exciting. I love getting the first batch of books. To be honest, I don't think I'll ever lose that thrill of seeing a book with my name on it.

Wet

The front page of the Guardian informed me that with a sharp rise in temperature expected, English gardens will be full of spiky drought-loving plants. A few hours later and I was standing on a stool trying to block a leak in my son's bedroom as we had yet another torrential downpour here in Cambridge. How those drought-loving plants must be loving this summer.

When I worked for The Independent many years ago as an illustrator, I illustrated an article about the effects of global warming on the UK. I did a take-off of John Constable's The Haywain in which the cart was crossing a dried up river and there were palm trees and sunflowers. The more likely parody would show the cart being washed away in a flood.

I spoke to someone from my home insurance company about the fact that water has been coming into my sons bedroom and ruining his books. I told her that it probably started when there was a terrific rainstorm here a couple of weeks ago and we all stood and watched as water rushed off the roof like a waterfall. She went away and checked and came back and told me there had been no significant rainfall in Cambridge. So we all must have dreamt it.

I'd have to claim it as an accident she said. There was a £75 excess, she said. And my no-claims bonus might be affected. Insurance. Its such a comfort. Until you actually try and claim.

I spoke to Chris Riddell on the phone. I may meet up with him as he passes through Cambridge on the train back to Norfolk. We talked about what we are both up to and he always seems to be up to more exciting stuff than me. He and Paul Stewart are off to the States to promote their Barnaby Grimes books in September. And maybe that isn't as exciting as it sounds - it must be exhausting. But it beats standing on a stool with a bucket.