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Hello dear friends!
I apologise for my absence of late. I’ve been in Ibiza, you see. On a hen party.
Did you hear me? I went to Ibiza! Where, like, trendy people go? They like get villas n shit? And they go to sunset bars and look good after a day at the beach? Yuh?
That was me for the last four days.
A few weeks ago I was changing the sheets on my bed.
Without warning, something underneath my right shoulder blade exploded agonisingly down my back and up into my neck. “Arghhh,” I whispered, immediately paralysed.
The Man, who was next door, either didn’t hear or took no notice. He is used to my dramatic noises.
“Arghhhh,” I repeated, with more volume. I wasn’t
Well, it happened. Publication day came and went. My book (pictured – once only, I promise) is out there, in the world. Feck!
I didn’t knob up my radio interviews too horribly, although I did have an awkward moment when one of the presenters made some gag involving my name. The gag was clearly designed to invite a reciprocal response but
When I was twelve I wrote the lyrics for a song which began with the line above. Let’s just say it together, atmospherically:
Hush…. There’s a deathly hush all around….
Oh, it was a classic. A few lines later it went “There’s gonna be a riot if it stays this quiet…” I mean, I was destined to be a writer!
Oh, Robinson.
Riot and
Happy Easter, my friends!
Hmmm.
Normally Easter Sunday sees me locked in a resentful face-off with a boiled egg because I am unable to eat sugar and thus cannot stuff my face with chocolate.
Naturally, it is always the boiled egg’s fault. Or, I will spend the day trying to outwit my parents’ dog Grouse, whose determination to steal any chocolate stored within
Good day to you, readers.
How are you today? I am old.
I’ve suspected this for a while (wrinkles; generally being asleep before midnight; interest in gourmet chutneys) but in the last week my advanced years have become impossible to ignore. By way of evidence I’m including a picture of me hanging out with old people on the Seine last week.
This blog
Oh oui oui bloody OUI, readers! J’ADORE PARIS!
Flaming arseballs, it was amazing. Why the hell did I wait until I was 32 ?
Well, I suppose I know why. And yes, as reasons go it was on the slightly silly end of the scale but since I outed myself at least five girlfriends and several blog readers (hell, they’re my girlfriends
HI THERE my dear Readers.
I write to you in a state of great excitement.
Firstly, I’ve just been to see Penguin, my publishers. It’s only six weeks until my novel is published – less, maybe – and they tell me that the retail world is going mad for it. And reviewers, bloggers, all sorts of people are loving it. I cannot
I took The Man to meet Kieran, my old housemate. I love Kieran; I used to live with him. I love The Man, I now live with him. I thought we could share some chat about what a great person I am to live with: kind, funny, tidy: the sort of roomie you’d be really proud to introduce to your
Back in May 2010 I announced – with gay abandon – that I was leaving behind my old career to become a Bohemian Writer instead. I would move to Buenos Aires where I would drift around in bare feet; wearing an assortment of headscarves, eating alternative foods such as silken tofu and giving up consumer crap like make up and
