Fantasy Holidays I Will Probably Never Go On Part 3

The Guardian Hay Festival Alhambra

I've always liked the idea of the Guardian Hay Festival proper but something about it seems just a little too British and well-behaved to me. The Alhambra has always had a fantasy, Arabian nights-style debauched sexiness for me and that sultry southern Spanish-Moorish air is very conducive to lazy debate. The programme is excellent too, with an emphasis on middle eastern reporting and literature.

I'd probably stay here and drink very, very cold white wine. I'd wear a lot of black in the midday sun and Umberto Eco would develop a fascination with me.

A Whole New World

Of sarcastic reviews. Why won't people leave poor Peter and Katie alone? They're simple, money-grabbing, publicity-hungry vultures, just like you and me.

This is where I drop my facade of superiority and admit that I LOVE Katie and Peter. Every fibre of my being screams a protest but I really want to be their friend.

I daydream frequently of a life where the boy and I go to their Surrey home and have dinner (probably fajitas from a kit or pasta and sauce, washed down with Tesco Finest wine) then Kate and I sit and talk about the state of the American modern novel and Almodóvar, while Peter and the boy probe the finer details of visualisation and kernel development.