The Shadow Line

I feel I still have many questions. I am not as creative as Marie at putting them together, but basically they boil down to: was the whole Royal Pardon business done just because Gatehouse is crazy? In fact, does the whole story boil down to: Gatehouse is crazy? I mean, pensions schmensions, there are easier ways to

Sometimes it is just time to write about a thing

I don’t know why, really, but Israel seems to be coming up more and more frequently these days in the questions people ask me or the things I hear them say about me. For example, I heard from a friend, A, that another writer, B, had said they were surprised that A was friends with

They say you can’t go home again but I say: ‘what do they know?’

A few weeks ago, the other Perplex City writers and I got to talking about how much we’d enjoyed working together, and started wondering about what our characters might be up to now. So, this is very unofficial, but we put together some fan fiction for a Restitution of the Cube Day treat. And we love you all 🙂 ———————————————————————————— They say you

Staying in the house

For the record, I would just like to make it clear that I *did*, in fact, go to 31 new places in August! Where I got lazy was writing about them. But, here is a list. And some pictures. I think this list is best read at very fast speed in a single breath, like

21. Fringed

Yeah yeah, I know, I know. But, I have actually been going to places, I have the pictures all stored up, I still have hopes of getting them all done while we’re still in August. I’ve got a week. Come onnnnnnnn. OK so today I popped my Fringe cherry. Not watching: performing. I’m in Edinburgh

8. Camp Bestival

Ah, it’s all getting a bit B S Johnson out-of-order storytelling now. But if I want to get them all done in August there’ll have to be more than one a day. So. The last time I saw the marvellous Rachel Rose Reid (go and look, she’s lovely) was at Camp Bestival, where I was performing at

9. A turning off the main road*

Sometimes, oh best beloveds, you have a bit of a day, at the end of what became a bit of a month, in the midst of what’s turning into a bit of a year. And sometimes it turns out, at the end of that day, that you have inadvertently booked yourself for the night into

5. Waterlogged

Today I stood in a gazebo made of old tin cans, listened to folk music in a yurt, saw a sand snake (pictured), touched a live snake (not pictured) and spanked a man on the bottom with a 100-year-old truncheon. However, none of those things count, because they are new things, and, since I was

4. “Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died… It was her garden.”

Courtesy of the lovely people at Hendricks Gin, I’m spending this weekend at The Secret Garden Party festival in Cambridgeshire. I’ve never been to Burning Man, but I imagine it has this sort of vibe: a lot of weird and gorgeous costumes, strange art installations and more naked breasts than I’ve ever seen outside a

3: and every chapter must be so translated

I travelled from Bologna to Paris today, on the train. Well, last night. Well, today. Forgive me, I’m a bit tired. The train was two hours late arriving at Bologna – hours I spent on a humid platform fending off beggars and weirdos, always fun to be a woman travelling alone – then it accumulated