Well, what a day. Woke up at five and joined on of the commuters' trains at 7:15. By the time I reached Waterloo, I was more stressed than after my four-hour trip to Hull and back. People spreading newspapers onto your nose, giving you elbow blows, trampling on your feet. . . Now I can fully appreciate Queneau's Exercises in Style. . .
Anyway, after three meetings in town, I whizzed back to the office, then a few breathless hours and off to central London again, where we had a wonderful dinner with Rosie Alison and her husband Tim. Since I know she reads this blog, I have promised not to reveal anything about the evening, including publishing gossip and priceless anecdotes that will have to be reserved for my posthumous memoirs in twelve e-book volumes. The only thing I am allowed to say is how humbled I felt as a struggling new author of a book called Bestseller at the spontaneous success of her bestselling book . . .
Where did we go? We went to La Brasserie, opposite the Michelin building in South Ken. We hadn't been there for ages. Food and wines, as always, are delicious – and I have broken my alcohol abstinence tonight as it was a great night of celebration.