Saturday was the fortieth of an adorable man I once shared a flat with.  It’s interesting to see the shape that people take on with time, and from the cool, spiky peroxide haired, muso-dude with the record collection to die for, he has become a loving father still imbued with his sprightly eyes and naughty wit.  I sat next to one of his close ( Read more... )

All my posts are stuck behind the balustrade that was my birthday. On Sunday I became middle-aged. It’s a strange thing, age. It doesn’t seem odd when I say it out loud, but writing it down? Hmmm.

I was going to have a Big Party, themed, ‘Come as your Mum,’ but as my mother has been spewing vitriol, perhaps it’s a good thing that idea fizzled into ( Read more... )

Waking up in the same home as The Contessa is always good.  For years we shared a flat in Notting Hill so tiny that everyone imagined we must be lovers.  We never fell out.  We became like sisters, but different: able to talk about some things that sisters never would, and no history of pre-existing childhood behaviour patterns to compromise our ( Read more... )

So, why am I in on a Friday night? Well, I’ve got my party tomorrow and my flat is a fucking pig sty. Well, OK, it’s not a sty, but having not been cleaned since my return from Bangladesh, it’s in no shape for a ton of people to come around for party tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll need to do some food and work out some kind of ‘teenage’ outfit to wear. It ( Read more... )

OK, here I am, back in sunny London with head in the early hours of Bangladeshi time, and feeling just a little sleepy on it so far. What do I want to put in here now? Well, I’d like to have filled it in as I went along with all the good things, odd things, generous people, and some fabby photos of Bollywood painted rickshaws, green countryside, ( Read more... )