First things first: my last event in the UK was amazing. There was a great, sold-out crowd at Crawley, and it was just basically sort of stunning to think, I'm 3,000 miles from home in a different country, and people like me here too. Man, I miss the UK already. And their tea.
My last day in the UK definitely called for a post card. So this is the post card I left in the Costa in Crawley.
Scene of the crime:
Then I had a break, for the first time: I had from 5 p.m. one day to 12:30 p.m. the next day to myself -- the longest gap by far in my whole tour -- so I met up with my best friend from college. We spent the night in Lewes (gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous) and then headed down to the Seven Sisters the next day.
Seven Sisters = cliffs.
I don't think I can properly describe how beautiful it was. The photos probably don't do it justice either. Suffice to say, it was revoltingly beautiful. Anyway, I am standing there with my friend's brother in law, about ten feet above the highest water line on the surface, and it is cold and I am wearing my ass-kicking boots that someone from Twitter helped me find (also the most expensive pair of shoes I have ever worn in my life), and we have this conversation:
ME *looking at rocks on the shore*: These rocks are useless to me. I can't use this in my novel. The surface is all wrong.
HIM: I think the rocks are artificial. Brought in by trucks and spread each year to keep the sea at bay.
ME: That would be an awesome book title!
ME: 'To Keep The Sea At Bay.'
Just at that moment, the sea climbs up off the ground and soaks both of our jeans and fills my boots with the Atlantic Ocean.
And this is exactly the state I must maintain on the train ride back to Lewes and then the taxi ride to the airport and then the plane trip to Frankfurt that evening.
This, my friends, is the glamorous life of the bestselling author.