...I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. I'm still in Stratford, since Thursday and wow, what a great time I had, am having.

Thursday I enjoyed lunch and the afternoon with a writer friend who lives here, a little younger than I, but well past retirement age and still writing. Old authors never die; they write memoirs and advice columns. Past the first autobiographical "fiction" stage, past the second level of professional expertise, they get mixed up about the new wave of writers. It's not easy. Not only the names are different, the grammar has gone missing. Everyone has an internet brain, except you and I, and even so...

LATER: I'm home after a seminar on creating a musical, another play, and a bus ride home. I'm going to bed very soon. It was a delightful interlude and I'll report with reviews and reactions tomorrow.

It's not that I didn't think of something, it's that there are so many things competing for my attention that I can't choose, especially in the time I have allotted to me/it. Yesterday was the first day of summer - O Happy Day! - and I took the Festival Bus to Stratford, catching up with a dear friend who lives here, and settling by dinner time with another dear friend with whom I will attend three plays starting this afternoon. I will have a lot to assimilate.

And one remains consistently, persistently mindful. These are not people or events I can write off or coast through.

Plus, I carry my digital daily Manchester Guardian and New York Times with me, so there are events and thoughts to react to. Try as i might to keep removed, I am, like most people in North America, addicted to information. I think perhaps my Stratford friend is the least addicted person I know, but then, no, she is addicted to other facts and stimuli, in other directions. I'm not, of course, referring to addictive substances. I think human beings have addictive responses wired into their DNA; we all must be very careful what we latch onto.

I have not, for example, latched onto Netflix. I know myself too well, and my penchant for story. If I had Netflix I would stare forever and never return: I would never write again. I note, by the way, a recent article commenting on this, that people are killing themselves with Netflix - binge-watching. I guess it's a "nice" way to die, but I'm not ready for it yet..

I have miles to go before I sleep.