These are strange times. Partly, because my current job at the Edinburgh International Science Festival is, well, strange: every day, I drive around Scotland with another Amanda and we perform a science show to primary school children over and over again. It’s called Little Giants. It’s about bees. I’m the beekeeper, the other Amanda’s the bee.
But that’s not even the really strange part. The oddest thing is that,
after getting up at stupid o’clock in the morning to drive to these
schools – an experience I find akin to pulling teeth – and after doing
this show three times with the energy of a couple of CBeebies
presenters who have broken into a Red Bull factory, I have been getting
home and writing.
Seriously, why is this? Why am I not able to write a thing after a week
of languishing about in pyjamas, but when I’ve spent the day yelling
at the lady inside the tomtom and jumping around singing the praises of
pollination, suddenly I can get home and bash out 2,000 words of