Down the rabbithole

So it’s opening day tomorrow - and once again I feel that marvellous annual sense of anticipation, and pride, that has been building for the last few weeks, reaching a crescendo. As a board member I’m several stages removed from the nitty gritty of hard hats and tent poles, sound checks and sandwiches, but the email traffic hots up, there are more phone calls and the excitement seems to leak out of the gardens till the air is thrumming between Charlotte Square and Dunkeld, where I live. I know the tented village is ready – a literary souk, bristling with pleasures, treasures and surprises – and I can’t wait to disappear into it, like Alice down her rabbithole, a parallel universe of the utmost benignity. It’s the highlight of my year, and every summer I look forward to plugging myself into this huge, extraordinary generator that charges my batteries and nourishes me for the year ahead. Roll on Saturday!