Being a bit out of practice, I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to date someone you actually like. The highlights include:
• Crippling self analysis
• Heightened feelings of vulnerability
• Loss of all humour
• Instant body dismorphia
• Incessant giggling
• Inability to write in English
I can’t wait for the jealousy, miscommunication and random hand-holding to kick in either.
"Even more than in America, British regional accents are the key to deciphering class and social stature. Does he speak with a crisp London clip? A slurry cockney? Does it matter? No, because they all sound freaking adorable. What do you care?"
(from Is He Cute or Is He British?
I’m off to Madrid for a long weekend with eleven of my nearest and dearest. On my return, exciting new things will be happening around here. I’m going to let you into a few secret projects that have been brewing over the past few months and I’ll also start writing about my life again – maybe even reveal what the book is about.
Have a great weekend and I’ll see you Tuesday to come.
One of the characters in my novel is a poet. A goofy kind of poet. This is something I wrote for him, but it hasn't made the final cut.
Rum Black raps
Tom Thumb taps
They perch with me
Drink them blind
Spend my mind
A gutted East, the Priest
Till pecked and plucked
Fly not oft
The Great Unknown Things I kind of understand - kind of, but not really
the phrase “post modern”
grammar (especially, commas)
“second cousin once removed”
any measurement (distance, weight) excluding time
the defintion of irony
In other news it's the Londonist party on Thursday
I will be there in my best shoes signing autographs and such. And when I say "signing autographs" I really mean "serving drinks". And when I say "best shoes" I really mean just "shoes".