In the last few weeks, I’ve been kept awake by a multitude of marauding mosquitoes. They suck so much of my blood I’m always surprised to find I’m alive in the morning, and that the mosquitoes still look so tiny when they should have the most bulbous of bellies.
But, despite this nasty, nightly feasting, I can’t help feeling sorry for Morris the Bathroom Mosquito.
Don’t get me wrong; I hate the little buggers as much as anyone. As concrete proof of this, here is a poem a teenage version of me, driven half insane with fury, wrote in the middle of the night on a holiday in Wales with my friend, Sophie. Continue reading
Alfie the cat and I don’t get a lot done when the resident rock star is in the house. Rock on, Alfie!
When you have limited spare time, the slightest thing can put you off your writing!
One day, we were making toast for breakfast and noticed the kitchen smelt really bad. Of dead things. I looked in the cupboards, under the cupboards, behind the cupboards several hundred times. Nothing. We ate the toast… Continue reading
Edith Wharton described her dog as ‘a little heartbeat at my feet’. The steady presence of animals is very comforting when you’re writing. Here are my own two little heartbeats.
There is another one, but she is less helpful, falling fast asleep stretched over my chair so I can’t sit down and start work without feeling bad for disturbing her!