Sunday, 11 April 2010

I would have jumped his bones

I’m meant to be telling you more about my holiday but now I’m back it seems like eyons ago! I’ve still got my tan, which is a blessing and I wish I could keep my colour like this all the time. Anyway, while I was away I met these three Manc women. They were funny as hell... two of them were sisters in their sixites and the third was 40. They smoked hard, laughed hard, I thought they’d drink hard but I didn’t see them drink at all. Not alcohol anyway. But they DID talk CONTINUOUSLY
(well, one of them did. The Queen Bee.) I just listened, chuckled often and left them so I could get on with some writing when it got too much.

I’m quite a solitary animal. Well, not necessarily solitary, but I do like calm. I can't cope with someone talking incessantly.

On my way back to London I was at the airport in Morroco and I had time to kill, so I mooched round the shops and that’s when I saw Him. I’d strolled into an empty shop that sold jewelery but quickly turned round when someone said ‘ hello’...
This tall, oh so bloody gorgeous half Morrocan/half Irish guy. 24 years old. One brother. And they were raised in Canada. He told me this during the hour we were talking. Fuck, he was beautiful. I caught myself grinning at him like an idiot while he was talking. I wasn't really listening to what he was saying to tell the truth. He had the prettiest brown eyes. Features that were copied from an angel. I could see his hairy chest poking out of the top of his top – yum. He was pretty so his chest made him look a little more masculine if you know what I mean...
I'd have been in trouble if I'd met him during the 7 days before. There is no doubt, non whatsoever that I'd have jumped his bones.

Anyway, we chatted, and chatted, and chatted some more and later he asked my full name so he could add me on facebook. I gave him my non-missy-gee facebook details.
I discovered that because his mama is Irish, he has a European passport. You know what that means?? He can come to London without visa hassle whenever he goddam feels like. Not that he will. Or he may not come to see me, but it’s good fantasy fodder.

I’ve just accompanied a friend to a Spiritualist Church. I really liked it. Not spooky at all. Uplifting and easy. The rest of today I’ve spent writing. I’m doing all right. I’m pleased with the progress I’m making with UnHooked. And, of course I’ve been flicking through Hooked.
You know that I have an actual copy of the book. An actual real-life copy of the book that I can hold in my hands! It’s just amazing to see it, smell it, read my own words in the form of a book!
It’s a marvel. You may think I was bouncing off the walls when it arrived, but what I felt was nervousness. I suddenly thought: ‘fuck this is happening. It’s really happening WoW!’ So, soon I’ll be up for criticism and all that comes with being A PUBLISHED AUTHOR!! Yaaay!! Get meeee!

It’s taken a few days for the penny to fully drop and for me to be excited by it. I’ve shown a couple of friends and that’s when I’ve been beaming with pride. This is my fucking book and I’ve achieved something pretty fabulous! Finally I have tangible evidence that my life has not all been a fucking wasted disaster. Hooked is good. You’ll like it... But if you’re not a fan of straight talking and stark reality – then err, you may want to skip vast chunks of it.
I’ve got loads to say tonight – but I’ll leave it here for now, otherwise I’ll be going on and on and on – and you know that wouldn’t be difficult for me! I can write and write and write, but talking like the woman I met on holiday takes far more effort.