We’re at the fag-end of August, almost six years after the moment that set off the series of events that would change Mrs Stroke Bloke’s and my life forever. But no doubt we’ll get to that in due course.
For now, the Edinburgh Festival has just finished and the smell of sulphur from the massive closing fireworks display that rattled our windows last night is fading.
The beginning of the Fringe is always a bit of a whirl. I’m doing reviews and interviews during preview week and the first week proper. For the second half of the month, it’s more a case of hanging on and getting through to the end.
Today, the Edinburgh Festival will shut up shop for another year, more or less signalling the end of our first full year in Edinburgh. Fortunately, that doesn’t mean the city is pulling down the shutters. Last February, I wrote to Tiny Letter subscribers that even in the depths of January, Edinburgh maintains a wide range of treats for the arts enthusiast, and that Longsufferinggirlfriendoftheblogbeth and I had recently seen The Lanterns Of Terracotta Warriors in the quad of the University of Edinburgh’s Old College.
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In autumn of 2012, they pulled the siphons from my skull, and the spigot from my spine. I slowly started making memories again, but I was rubbish at answering the questions doctors ask patients with brain injuries.