And so verily we travelled for many minutes by black Mazda to come upon the hallowed ground of Hickson Road and the Sydney Theatre Company.
And it was this day that all writers did gather, and those who thought maybe they would be writers, and those who are retired and like lining up for free stuff did also gather in droves.
And the clouds they did also gather, and chuck down at us but we were safe inside listening to the wisdom of the published and creative.
And there were many dark hues and draped fabrics, highlighted by splashes of colour. There were berets. There were boots and there were converse and there were hush puppies.
There were panels of mighty smart and talented authors.
There was rain, and harbour and very cool friends who love the same stuff I do.
Look at these people. Who could not have a great day in such company.
And pulled pork rolls and vegetarian burgers and coffee and chocolate brownies and bookshops.
So many of my favourite things in one place. I nearly popped with happiness.
There was a fascinating session on writing memoirs. I bought a book . Got it signed. Only one of the authors in a row of ten was getting any business. So even if you're a published author, speaking at the festival, you can still suffer signage envy when someone else on the panel you're on, attracts more people at the book signing than you do.
And we loved the signage.
Totally great day. I feel all writerly and inspired. Long may it last.