So, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted. A long time. Sorry about that. Elaborate explanations are boring, so I won’t bother with any – let’s just assume that I was holed up in a cabin in the alps writing my magnum opus, or had my right arm crushed by a piano, or was hideously savaged by a bear and have spent the last four years undergoing radical reconstructive surgery. Or something. I dunno. You decide.
I’ve started blogging again because I’m about to go on holidays to America (tomorrow) and this seemed the best way of letting people know what I’m doing while I’m there. But in the meantime, it seems necessary to update my readers on what I’ve been up to since I last posted. (I’m sure that both of them have spent the entire duration poised in anxious anticipation.) And 3.47am on a Friday morning seemed the perfect time to do it.
In a nutshell then:
- I’m no longer a teacher. Or a bookseller. Or work in publishing. Or do whatever the hell it was I was doing the last time I wrote – god knows it seemed to change with monotonous regularity. For the past two-and-a-half years I’ve been working as a children’s librarian, which means I spend my entire life clad in figure-hugging plaid skirts and cardigans, biting sexily on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles – in fact, as you read these very words, I am trying to wrest my hair into a bun and practicing my most forbidding shush. I genuinely love my job: expect many riveting accounts of preschool storytimes and circulation desk duties in the future.
- I’m no longer living with Richard, or “R”, which was the cunning pseudonym I chose for him back then. (Yes, I was a veritable cryptographer in those days.) I’m currently experiencing a blissful reprieve in between flatmates: I kind of hope that an unknown rich uncle dies and leaves me a fortune so I never have to find another.
- I still read voluminously (nb. I am unfortunately unable to use the word “voraciously” else I would be viciously pilloried by a friend who objects to the word in this context on the grounds that it is shockingly over-utilised by those whose professedly ravenous reading habits should have furnished them with a more extensive vocabulary.) While fiction is still my genre of choice, I am trying to read more non-fiction this year in a futile bid to make myself less frivolous. (Yeah, good luck with that one, she says dryly…)
- I still procrastinate constantly. I also still drink way too much coffee and red wine, though am getting better at managing the latter. (The former needs no redress – it would only rob me of me of my gay, vital edge and beguiling air of thinly reined-in hysteria.)
- Most importantly, however, I still have Fina: to quote Basil Fawlty, “Hooray – the cat lives! Long live the cat!”