Today's Tea Towel Philosophy...

I don't actually mean to become the Queen of tea towel wisdom, but I really do think that this one should find a place on my Christmas list too. I could definitely have done with one to blow my nose and mop up my tears the other night as I realised The Deadline was not going to be met...

Happily, much advice and handholding from certain wonderful writing friends and a quick phonecall with my excessively lovely editor have resulted in deadline reprieve, and the first proper night's sleep I've had in weeks. Hurrah! I can now catch up on some of the stuff I've been neglecting so badly of late, like updating my website, going through my proofs for Orlando (which I don't think I've mentioned is going to be called Mistress: Hired for the Billionaire's Pleasure and will be out in August next year), paying crushing dinner money debts and cleaning the bath.

I can also take a little time to fall in love with the book again.

Look at this!

Oh, now this I like.

This lovely tea-towel will feature highly on my very own Christmas list (so glamorous...), and will also form part of my website competition giveaway for the launch of The Italian’s Captive Virgin-- when I finally get round to getting it all up and running.

(Do you see what I’m doing here? I’m pretending that life is fun and there are no such thing as deadlines, panic attacks and crows of doubt. Clever, eh?)

Lost in the fog

I'm probably not going to be around very much between now and the end of next week. Deadline... RSI... it's all a bit grim. In the meantime you must nip over to Abby Green's website where she's currently running a contest (ridiculously generous, that girl) and gossiping about what she's been up to in the last couple of months. It's all so much more exciting than anything you'll read here, unfortunately...

Yesterday I had my most difficult and scary writing day ever. I almost would have preferred to be back on a freezing hockey pitch, which just goes to show how difficult and scary it was. Must not look down. Must just keep going....

Things I wish I'd known then...

Today it's one of those beautiful but bitingly cold mornings.

Hurrying home from the school run to my lovely warm office I had a sudden vivid flashback to being about 15 years old and standing shivering with cold, misery and deep, deep resentment on a frosty hockey pitch during one of those endless, punishing PE lessons.

Suddenly I wanted very much to stride over the frozen mud to that scowling teenager (muttering a few choice words to the Nazi PE teacher on the way) and tell her it would all turn out alright. That one distant day, mildewed aertex and ritual humiliation in the name of team sports would be a thing of the past and she would be able to spend her days in the warm, dreaming up luscious men.

(I might also tactfully mention, while I was about it, that lusting after George Michael was a big fat waste of time...)

What would you tell your 15 year old self, if you had the chance?

Good news, bad news

Here's the summary...

Good news: The RSI seems to be abating slightly. Think this is due to drafting in long hand before typing, altering the position of my wrists when I do type, and following Rachel and Abby's advice on the red wine and chocolate to the letter. Thankfully the book is starting to take off on its own now. (Yes, I know. About time too.)

Bad news: The new series of I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here started last night here in the UK, heralding two spectacularly untimely weeks of hideously addictive TV viewing leading right up to my deadline....

Good news: The ‘celebrities’ are largely the barrel-scrapings of D-list anonymity and after ten minutes I gladly drifted back to my desk. Hurrah! Crisis averted. The relief....

RSI strikes

Repetetive blooming Strain Injury.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. Like this book isn't hard enough to write already.

(You may have noticed that I've been pretty lax at keeping up with my labels, but the Self Pity tag is getting quite a lot of use....)

Kicking leaves

This is what happens when you take your children out after neglecting them for weeks on end because you've been too busy thinking about kissing James Franco. Leaf-related insanity ensues...


The weekend has been gorgeous. Saturday was damp and golden, Sunday all wreathed in blue-grey mist, and everything scented with fireworks and woodsmoke. Definitely the best time of the year, I think, and it was lovely to get a brief glimpse of it before getting my head into the book again.

My desk is now littered with conkers, scarlet leaves and fir cones collected by the girls as good luck charms. Let's hope they're as effective as they are pretty. I am so far behind it scares me....

There is such a thing as being too honest.

Last night was the school Halloween disco. As well as the children, the Mums In Charge were supposed to dress up in Halloween costumes too.

It was all a bridge too far for me.

'Don't worry mum,' said daughter #2 kindly. 'With the grey streaks in your hair you look really witchy already.'

Have spent an hour in Boots this morning, staring at shelves full of hair dye and thinking bad, unmotherly thoughts.