Antequera

This weekend, we went to Antequera, home of the world freestyle top spinning champion. We went as guests of SELIN: it was a business trip, to meet other editors, publicise the publishing house, and sell some books. Marian went on Thursday morning; I had to teach, so I went down on Saturday. On Saturday, Antequera was sodden.

Therefore we didn't open our stall in the morning. The other objectives, of publicising the publishing house and meeting other editors, could both be carried out under shelter and with beer, so we concentrated on them until after lunch.

But by five o'clock, the sun had come out and we were able to start selling books.

We were doing quite well; the number of people walking down the Paseo Real was steadily increasing; the various literary events in the tent at the bottom of the alley were drawing a crowd. The women and children of Antequera were taking the air, looking at all the literature on offer. Business was booming. Then, some complete tool decided that the best way to use his three-minute open mike slot would be to recite an explicit yet surprisingly dull poem about fellatio. The crowds thinned, and we didn't sell many more books after that.

But, you know, Dunkirk spirit. We did OK. It was nice to meet other editors, some of whom bought our books, some of whose books we bought: a bit like everyone taking in everyone else's washing, but there you go. The sun shone for us all Sunday morning.