Home Thoughts Weekly

The day begins with an invigorating half-hour run to rinse the brain cells and wake me up. Run like a gazelle and feel mighty and all-conquering. Walk through the Valet-o-Meter and emerge ten minutes later, washed, clothed, bright of eye and dewy of complexion, glossy locks shining in the light. Climb the winding stone steps to my fortified, sound-proofed study. Inform the bouncers that I am not to be disturbed except for lavish amounts of tea and essential nutrients, to include interesting biscuits (i.e. no dog biscuits aka bourbons) and a few squares of dark chocolate to help the creative juices along. Approach my desk with its state of the art, everlasting, indestructible, never-known-to-throw-a-hissy-fit, never-jamming computer and printer. Deal with internet correspondence in a crisp and efficient 20 mins, never once wandering over to the Daily Mail site to see what C list celebs up are to. Work on current OU assignment and plan blinding ECA. Reward myself with a blast of Yeah, ...

Ma’s eyes lock with the butcher’s. It’s a match made in Hell, the meeting of two naughty minds. Ma’s obviously feeling chirpy again, after our accident, and is ready for some serious flirting. Our butcher, a fine figure of a man with a wicked glint in his eye, is more than up to the challenge. Neither of them wants to be the first to look away. As the conversation grows ever more risqué, I’m the only one blushing. They’re still at it as I grab our purchases and drag Ma out the door. Whilst Ma’s on the mend , Tom and I are still feeling pretty shaken. Tom’s been a tad on the snappy side (you know it’s true!) whilst I seem to have lost a few layers of skin and see danger lurking round every corner. The stupidest thing reduces me to tears. Whilst hacking away at some overgrown clematis at the end of the garden (must be feeling unlike myself to be gardening) I uncover a tiny nest, beautifully lined with moss and downy feathers. Inside are four perfect, dazzling blue eggs and I a...

Well, today’s been the first day of the rest of my life. And Tom’s. And Ma’s. Returning to Wales after collecting Ma from Surrey yesterday afternoon, we were having a great journey. The M4 was busy, lots of lorries, but the weather was good and we were ticking along just under 70 (the speed cameras are abundant) happily planning what we were going to do for a few days. Then a huge noise, like metal screaming. And what? I don’t know, really. Time stood still and then moved infinitely slowly as we meandered across the lanes and on to the hard shoulder. Then the full horror really kicked in. A shredded tyre, snapped suspension, no steering. How Tom got us to safety I really don’t know. The car’s a mess but it must be some kind of miracle that the three of us walked away from it without a scratch and that no other cars were involved. My profound thanks to the Highways Agency Traffic Officers who were so efficient and reassuring, to the AA who got us home and to whichever luck...

Look! Here I am patting myself on the back , and not just because the new physio has told me to (actually, he’s told me to do a kind of patting on the back backwards and it doesn’t half hurt. He’s also got me pumping 3kg weights which feel pretty berludy heavy to my no-muscle-tone arm). Anyway, I’m also patting myself on the back because I have finished FTT ‘Dark ‘n’ Sleek’, my third rewrite of ‘Fighting the Tide’ which takes into account the advice I’ve had from the one agent and one editor who have read the complete t/s. Hopefully this Goldilocks version will be neither too short and light nor too long and dark. I’ve retained my cast of characters because that’s the way I enjoy working, but clipped a sub-plot, to leave the focus more on my heroine. A vigorous horizontal romp (sorry, kids,) between the hero and his on-off girl friend, has also been cut, not because I had a fit of the vapours, but because it struck me that for a couple who were supposed to be on the way out, th...

I’m lying awake thinking of all the things that seem so frightening in the dark. Nothing honourable, alas, it’s nearly all self-preservation rather than world preservation. And it’s not as if fretting is going to make anything better; as I used to tell Lily and Rose, ‘Get it right, do it by light’ which is a rather crap way of trying to make them see that most of those night fears don’t look so big and scary during the day. Anyway, I have an eye test coming up, and even though I have the best optometrist in the world, my dear friend Jill (who is also Optometrist To The Stars, since her practice is in a rather swanky part of Surrey – no don’t ask, my lips are sealed. All right, she did once arrange for me to be hanging around at the same time as a Famous Rock Star I’d had a huge crush on at school only Lily and Rose were with me and even though they were quite small, Rose said she would never talk to me again if I made an exhibition of myself.) I am still rather nervous. I’m very s...

Yes, I know if we’re talking about our favourite things it should be ‘whiskers on kittens’, but bear with me. So, round the dinner table, the other night, with one of Tom’s Fat Boy chums (actually, now both Fat Boys Slimmed) and a fellow WAG (except we have our own hair, teeth, boobs and nails – ‘though, I wouldn’t rule out swapping any of mine for a better set) we got on to the subject of our favourite things. FBS has a huge collection of music, so I asked him if he could only pick one album what it would be. After moments of um-ing and ah-ing, he decided on Neil Young’s ‘Harvest’, FWAG picked, Sting’s ‘Fields of Gold’, Tom, classical music expert, went for ‘Anything by the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. Or the Kinks.’ (What is it about the Kinks? Is it a boy thing? Still, I have eaten in the India Garden in Epsom with Ray Davies on two occasions, ‘though not at the same table so he probably won’t remember.) Torn between Nick Cave and John Martyn, I made do with Jeff Buckley’s ‘Grace’...