Today was not really the day I wanted to see almost three hours of Ibsen. The children had been a bit fussy all day; nothing unusual, just crying at inopportune moments, the older one getting upset about me going out, the little one wanting more of my milk in the middle of M&S, and then... Continue Reading →
Envy politics
London tube strikes are always amusing. The streets swarm with a variety of tourists holding the hilarious belief they will be able to hail a taxi, commuters who have decided they're on safari and wander round with big backpacks and integrated hydration systems, and of course the hobby cyclists who try to get themselves killed... Continue Reading →
A view from the bridge
I don't get to go the theatre very often any more. I sometimes miss it, but given it means I don't see my baby for a whole day, there is even more pressure for it to be worth it than that engendered by the cost of the tickets. So a play really needs to have... Continue Reading →
Why I hate gardening
Everyone in England wants a garden to call their own. It's one of the main reasons they move out of London, if they were not fortunate enough to have bought a house in Hampstead in the 1960s. Ironically, no one particularly wants a house in Hampstead Garden Suburb, as it seems to have very little... Continue Reading →
How does one write something nice?
My husband wants me to write a "nice" short story. I suppose I can see why he wants this. He's so far volunteered to read the short stories I have produced; the first one was about a prostitute who dies while showing off her jewellery to her children, in an accident involving a pet goat.... Continue Reading →
Australia – Shangri-la for Europeans
I've become quite addicted to yet another daytime TV staple, a reality programme called "Wanted Down Under". It's a rather irritatingly structured show about people who want to emigrate to Australia. They're given an introduction to employment opportunities, house prices, and whatever lifestyle opportunity they think their move will open up to them. They are... Continue Reading →
Knowledge in England
In common with many arts graduates, I delight in accumulating mostly useless knowledge. Since I'm not the brightest person I know, I tend to assume that this is knowledge also accumulated by everyone else. Interacting with a variety of different people suggests that this is not the case, and so I end up feeling bad... Continue Reading →
The nationality of objects
An American singer called Kelly Clarkson, who is apparently really quite successful, bought a ring at auction in England last year. She paid £150,000 for it. For that kind of price, I'd be looking for a blue diamond, but she bought a rather unfashionable 19th century round turquoise in a gold setting. It happened to... Continue Reading →
Othello at the National – quite good
Last night I went to se Othello at the National Theatre, with Adrian Lester. I had seen an abridged production with Lenny Henry in the west end a few years ago, and was lastingly touched by the tragedy of jealous murder and betrayal. Lenny Henry was quite a revelation, his 6 feet five frame so... Continue Reading →
The problem with not working
The less busy I am, the less I take time to write. I spend hours thinking about what I would write, lying in bed when I wake up and excitedly thinking, "yes, that's it, that's exactly what sums up what was bad about Oblivion, I'll write that". Or thinking about more serious topics that I... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 