On Monday my stepdad hired a van and we ferried a great big piece of furniture over to his place in Tottenham. A spare tyre in the back of the van tried to break through the thin piece of plyboard protecting the passengers and decapitate myself and my mother, like some death scene in Final Destination. Once at his house we had to get the piece of furniture up the stairs, which involved lots of sweat and swearing, and another near-death experience as I narrowly avoided plummeting down the staircase followed by a huge wardrobe intent on crushing me.
I met my agent V for lunch, who brought along agent G (who looks after foreign rights) and agent S (who sells film and/or television rights). They were all uniformly lovely, and great company. G and I had Bellinis followed by wine, and I ended up a bit squiffy. I'm such a lightweight (despite my recent brave attempts to increase my tolerance levels by drinking massive amounts of champagne). We chatted about our favourite books, and I learnt some good tips on how not to impress an agent - that's the last time I handwrite a novel on Basildon Bond stationery in my own blood, I can tell you.
Back to Cambridge and the lovely boyfriend after that, and then work on Tuesday. I'm employed by one of the University departments, and this is the time of year when all the students have finished and all the faculty are
At least the sun has finally arrived in East Anglia. I think I'll get the garden furniture out and spend the weekend writing book no.2 in the sunshine. It's a hard life...