Author: James Burt

I had no idea what to expect from Shambala, just that some friends went last year and had a great time. I loved it – it was like Glastonbury without the bullshit and marketing. The festival was held in the grounds of Kelmarsh Hall and made good use of the lake and the woods.

I'd heard of very few of the acts playing, which was fun. I ended up wandering around the site, seeing odds and ends. I stumbled on some impressive aerial acts on the Saturday and, on the Friday, was one of a dozen people dancing to the Transpersonals, who deserved a much bigger audience. I caught a string quartet playing I predict a riot and drank lots of coffee of varying quality.

The poetry was interesting. I saw some bloody awful acts as well as some stunning performances. Saturday night started with Yanny Mac, the domestic goddess, followed by Andy Craig Griffiths (I think) Andy Craven-Griffiths, with one of the best live sets I've seen. His poems were about his family and were both moving and funny. This was followed with a brilliant set by Tim Clair TIm Clare, featuring the wonderful poem Mrs F**k.

(Update Poets' names corrected following an irate email from Rosy Carrick.)

I saw so many cool things: the two people who dressed as Bananaman meeting and drinking together; a Rorschach costume; the woman hula-hooping at the lake; the Ugly Camping sign; the sound installation and lighting in the woods; the message going round, "If you're dressed as a bee they want you at the lake at 5"; the excellent book stall. Best of all, the rain mostly held off, which was fortunate since I was camping in a cheap Tesco's tent.

I can't wait for next year – thanks to Ayng and company for a great time!

I'm now hurtling down the M55 to Coventry after today's race.  Sadly it was abandoned half way through as the River Kent was impassable.  I'd been having a good run up to that point, with the trailing wind making me about a minute a mile faster than normal. 

We turned back about five miles in which meant running straight into the wind.  The rest of the run was harsh.  At its worst the wind knocked me back to walking pace.  I spent most of the time with a pack, grateful for the portable wind-break.

While it would have been fantastic to complete the crossing, the race was still an amazing experience.  The bay is desolate with the wind sweeping across it stirring up flurries of sand.  There are lots of small channels to run through with the delight of not knowing how deep they are.  The event (especially the long and weary run into the wind) feels something like a dream now. 

I started today not having run a half marathon and end it still not having run a half marathon.  I'm going to search for another later in the year and will definitely enter the next cross-bay run.

I've arrived in Morecambe with Mum & Dad ready for tomorrow's run.  The town has the faded glamour I like from my seaside towns  but the rain was a bit much.  I'd not packed a coat and was quickly soaked to the skin this evening.  I took some good photos though.

The tide was in tonight, meaning the race course was underwater.  The event sounds daunting but I'll just do my best and see how it goes.

A new parcel of books was waiting for me in Melbourne last night – Spook Country, The Body Artist and Julie Burchill and Daniel Raven's book Made in Brighton.  I don't have any issue with Burchill and Raven writing the book, since Raven has lived in Brighton far longer than I have and, besides, everyone's welcomed to their opinion.  But I had to stop reading at the reference to the "North Laines".  Maybe it's pedantic, but if you're going to write a book about something it's best not to make common mistakes to acknowledge the subtleties.

Anyway.  I've got a load of notes for a last story about circuses that I'm going to type up tonight.  Tomorrow is going to be a long day, with the race and visits to relatives on the way home, but I'll write an entry on it once I have chance. 

Coventry lately feels hot and stuffy.  I want cool breezes and beaches.  I miss walking by the sea at nights.  Coventry has no good places to stroll.

I finished my training for the half marathon tonight with a 6.5 mile run.  I'm far from an athlete but I am getting faster.  A year ago I did no exercise and I'm proud of how far I've come.  When people talked about how great running felt I used to think they were idiots.  Now I find myself saying the same things.

I've also been doing a lot of writing recently.  Last night I was working on a piece I wasn't happy with.  I decided the idea was weak but I had nothing better.  I despaired a little that I couldn't drag out ideas on command.  Lying in bed a new idea came from nowhere.  I woke half an hour before my alarm clock this morning and wrote a first draft.  I don't know where the ideas come from, but they always seem to come in time.  This week I've written two new stories, one about a banana, and one about apples.