At Bertram’s Hotel*

In Abroad.  Staying in a charming little Art Deco hotel.  Could be in an Agatha Christie novel.  Manage not to get murdered in the night, which is good.   Am writing this in the hotel courtyard where there are olive trees.  “Look: they’ve got olives on them.  Put that in the blog,” Mum says. We […]

Murder Most Fowl*

“Look,” I say to Dad, stopping my bike, stepping down, putting my bike flat on the grass.  “Look at this dead person.” There’s a crow, or rather an ex-crow, lifeless on the ground. Dad stops, gets off his bike, peers at the black iridescent feathers.  “Maybe he just dropped down dead of natural causes,” he […]

Hot Dish Heaven*

It’s 5.15pm.  My phone buzzes. “It did take me a little longer than I’d hoped, but I’m on a train on my way to you.  Do you have gin? Xxx,” the message says.  It’s from Seb, obviously. “Ah well done!  Yes, of course I do.  What time does train get in and where?” I say. […]

Happiness*

It’s horrible being back from holiday and on my first bus of the two I need to make it to the office.  So am going to take up After The Rain’s gauntlet and share a list of ‘Fifty Things That Make Me Happy’. 1.  The fluffy monster.  The softest, most orange and most affectionate cat […]

Black Mist*

They’re filming Black Mist: apparently it’s a Poirot novel although I’ve never heard of it, which is strange and unsettling as I’m sure I know all of them.  There’s a large cast.  The plot revolves around a gang of girls in their early twenties, which is unusual.  One of these girls is involved with a […]

Have His Carcase

Back on the bike, at the gym, writing this. It’s dark outside. The panther has vanished thankfully and my thoughts run along these tracks: 1. Am I waiting for MediaChap to say “I don’t want you to meet other boys”. For example: have no plans this evening. Have a few boy vultures circling my carcase/ […]

In Bruges

Have a Date tonight: first one for a couple of weeks. Am nervous as he looks absolutely gorgeous in his photos. He’s half-Belgian/half-Danish: lots of shaggy brown hair, great cheekbones, wide mouth with naughty grin, hazel eyes. He’s not a Bright Young Thing either: this one is forty. A man of Experience. Works in telecoms […]

The Fountainhead

“What are you up to tonight?” The What’sApp message flashes across my screen. It’s from my new Bright Young Thing, the 26 year old architect. Me: Watching “Six Puppies And Us.” New programme about how to bring up a puppy. You? BYT: Viewing properties in South and High Kensington. Me: To rent or buy? BYT: […]