‘I think you might have something I want,’ the purple winged angel said, strolling into my dining room. ‘I’m not speaking to you. Really, I’m not. I’m doing a lot of thinking, and I am rapidly reaching the conclusion that you’ve got nothing to do with anything. You didn’t sort
So. Bertolucci said in an interview that he and Brando planned parts of the rape scene of Last Tango in Paris without telling Maria Schneider, because he wanted to film Schneider’s reaction ‘as a girl, not as an actress.’ There’s a simplicity about his statement that is relevant to this
On day 4 of Advent, I found myself walking down Long Acre and into Leicester Square at seven o’clock in the morning. It was still quite dark and I hadn’t slept well. I don’t sleep well –I spend too many days feeling as though I’m shrouded in muslin, and I
‘So, what do you think?’ the angel said, proudly displaying an art installation in which purple rain fell in a perfectly white room while Anna Pavlova danced. ‘Of course, it would have been better with Darcey Bussell.’ ‘She’s not dead, is she?’ I asked anxiously. We’re having a Christmas craft
I had one aim for my cloud excursion today. I wanted to see God’s red telephone. The one he uses to talk to Theresa May. It’s reassuring to hear that he’s guiding her through Brexit, but I wanted to see for myself. I also thought maybe I could pick up
The start of Advent is a good time to check in with God. He seems to have been away for much of 2016, but dropped in this morning, summoned by this plaintive tweet. He clapped his hand to his forehead (that’s why it’s so cold, and why my boiler was
I sing in this chorus (that’s me, at the end of the third riser). It’s the reason I enjoy whatever level of sanity I manage to cling to. We’re called Amersham A Cappella, and we have just won the Gold Medal at the annual convention of the Ladies’ Association of
So Jay Rayner appears at Hay. His audience of 500 people had paid £7 per ticket and he was given a flower in payment. That’s not ok. I absolutely and completely accept that this is not ok. And I admire Philip Pullman for resigning as patron the Oxford Literary Festival
Yesterday evening, four W&N debut authors formed a panel at the tenth Chorleywood Literary Festival, organized by the wonderful Chorleywood Books. Catriona Ward (Rawblood), Colin Macintyre (The Letters of Ivor Punch), Laura Barnett (The Versions of Us) and I, chaired by Morag Watkins, talked about our novels, about getting
Nothing seems to wind people up as much as other people uniting the parts of their anatomy they generally keep covered with the corresponding parts of others. Or, if the universe is feeling really generous, unsubstantiated claims that parts attached to the privileged and influential are on occasion united