Friday, 24 July 2009


I’m afraid the Lesbian Love Slut affair had to be postponed due to inclement weather and another event which unsurprisingly took precedence. LLS will be rescheduled and reported on in due course but for now here’s what happened this week written live and direct from my dining-room table:

"I’m writing this with shaking hands in between devouring a large bar of Green ‘n Black Cherry Chocolate and waiting for the phone to ring.

It’s been a rather surreal day which began at 8 in the morning when my elder daughter called to tell me that she had, at last, gone into labour. The baby was only a day overdue but it’s been a long nine months and as it’s her third, we all expected the birth to happen quickly.

It is now 9.15 in the evening and I’m still waiting for news. She’s texted me intermittently throughout the day with details of epidurals being administered and waters being broken, but she requested that our large extended family do not descend on the hospital until she’s all done and dusted and her other children have had the first sighting of their little sibling.

I live the closest to the hospital and it’s been very frustrating. All I want to do is get in the car and go down there, either to keep her and her husband company or at least pace up down expectantly outside the delivery room. But they like their privacy and I must respect that.

My two older granddaughters, Tatiana and Normandie, are with their other grandmother and my grandson, Noah, is with his mum also awaiting news.

We don’t as yet know what the sex of the new baby will be. They’d quite like a boy for a change but as long as it has ten fingers and toes and is healthy inside and out, it doesn’t really matter.

9.40 p.m. A call comes through to say 'It Won’t Be Long Now!' Enough of this procrastinating, I think, so I leap in the car, arrive at the hospital in record time and burst in through the double doors. I’m sent straight up to the fourth floor and there is my daughter, halfway between birth and afterbirth, looking calm, serene and very happy.

In a crib by her side is a tiny head covered in a dark mop of black hair.

‘You have another granddaughter!’ she says with no trace of disappointment, just joy and relief that the little mite has arrived safely.

Weighing in at 4.04 kgs or 8lbs. 9 ozs. in old money, the baby is to be called Xenia Minnie! My mother was called Zena, another grandmother was Minnie. Mouse may become her nickname but not from me!

So no toyboy stories this week I’m afraid, though I do have a tea date with one tomorrow. I’ve been washing, shopping, cooking, cleaning and generally performing my maternal duties like the good girl I sometimes am...

Some r ‘n r would be most welcome, but it’ll have to wait till next week...

Tuesday, 14 July 2009


After the celebratory night of passione with The Smouldering One - aged 29 - I threw myself headlong into a hot date with a 70-year old.

This had all the similarities of trying to extract a bottle of fine wine from a handful of dry leaves. He is, however, an Old Friend and as he always shows an interest in my work, I gave him a copy of TB2 - The Daily Male.

He called me the next evening having read about a third of it.

"I need to have a serious talk with you, face to face, not over the phone," he said in deeply sombre tones, like a doctor who was about to tell me I have a terminal illness. "I think I've worked out what your problem is..."

Ooh eck! Do I want to hear this? No! Not if it's negative and not if it's critical. And definitely not if he's going to try to convince me that settling down for a life of dull domesticity with a man old enough to be my husband is the answer to all my prayers!

On Monday, I looked after my 15-month old grandson which is always an absolute joy and the best little boy toy a girl could have.

On Tuesday I guested on a chat show on Radio Coventry and Warwickshire. Yes! It finally happened! Today Coventry, tomorrow Ze Vurld! but the lowlight of my week came on Friday evening, when a girlfriend and I went to a double bill at the Arts Theatre.

The first half was called F**king Men, a well-written, well-acted play about gay love. So far so interesting. The second half, however, was called Naked Boys Dancing (or it may have been Singing...)

Now the clue should have been in the title but imagine our surprise when halfway through the penultimate number, we were presented with six limp dicks. Never mind too much information - this was simply too much vegetation. One limp dick is bad enough, but six? Enough to turn a girl vegetarian!

Unfortunately, my friend and I were bang in the middle of the second row which made it rather hard to get out. This was the only part of the performance that was rather hard. It emphasized the expression 'less is more'. They should have kept their kegs on, or a subtle towel at least...

When we eventually got home, I actually felt like gargling with Parazone. I'm not sure why, but somehow, having all that male genitalia shoved in my face was quite a turnoff...which may sound strange coming from me!

Luckily I was turned right back on again by a further date with The Smouldering One. I'm still not sure if I actually like him. He may have a Phd in Lovemaking but his personality is edgy and confrontational.

I might not see him again. But on the other hand...

Next week's blog will be entitled Lesbian Love Slut - you'll have to read it to find out why!

Thursday, 9 July 2009


Check out today's FEMAIL online for a double page spread on yours truly...

My words and some of the facts are slightly distorted. After a 2 hour interview and 3 hour photoshoot, they chose to dumb down most of what I said and print a 2 year old photo but hey!

The ONLINE COMMENTS are the most interesting part...I'm reeling from the worldwide 'interest' or denigration of my lifestyle choices!

Sunday, 5 July 2009


This weekend I experienced one of those magical moments when the stars are aligned in such perfect symmetry that one is possessed with a feeling of such utter euphoria, one just wants to capture it and hold onto it forever.

And for once, dear readers, it had nothing to do with a man!

I was out on a date with ARP, the Arrogant Rugby Player who sent me the pretty Myla lingerie some two years ago. He's been living in New York ever since but is now back in Blighty and invited me, rather belatedly, out for dinner.

We arrived at l'Atelier de Joel Robuchon a mere 15 minutes late - that's two years and 15 minutes if you're being pernickity, which I am. (Well worth the wait, incidentally. HISTORIC food - absolutely tip-top tickle your tastebuds tremendous).

The evening was going deliciously when, at about 10.30 p.m. my text went off. One of the children no doubt, I thought, as I grappled discreetly in my handbag and had a sneak peek. But wasn't one of the children. It was my agent! At 10.30 p.m. on a Friday night? This had better be good!

The text read: Sorry so late but if you can, please call me. News!

I apologized to ARP and with a flutter in my heart and a prayer on my lips, I stepped onto the pavement. The paparazzi were out in force, waiting to snap some poor unsuspecting C-listers emerging from The Ivy just up the road.

I returned the call, my voice eager with anticipation. If this was what I hoped it would be, I would be soon be dancing in the streets. Perhaps the paps wouldn't notice.

The News! was that after a whole year of waiting and hoping (because my agent thought it best not to advance it until Toyboy Diaries 2 was on the shelves) I heard that my first novel BLOOD ON THE SAND, a project very close to my heart, has been accepted for publication!

Euphoric does not begin to cover it!!! I thanked my agent profusely and dashed back into the restaurant. I flung my arms around ARP's neck, swigged down the remains of my Bellini and ordered another.

And then that feeling overtook me, powering through me like electricity, sparking up every crevice of my being and igniting my very viscera with pure, unadulterated joy. I still can't believe it! I'm going to be a novelist! A lifelong ambition is about to come true!

The evening ended back at mine with me beating ARP roundly at Scrabble.

On Saturday night, The Smouldering One came over and we took a picnic to the park. He continued to 'smoulder' until the early hours of the following morning when we finally got some sleep.

I still haven't managed to wipe the smile off my face. It must be very annoying to anyone who hasn't had such great news and for that, I can only apologize...but I hope to continue entertaining you with fiction for a long, long time to come.