Sunday postscript

The boiler-man arrived; hot water has been restored; hair will be washed.  Relief all round.

I'm three-quarters of the way through How Late It Was, How Late, and beginning to think in foul-mouthed Glaswegian about my own blindness and prison terms and too-small trainers and lack of a guide dog. 

Annie Clarkson's doing a giveaway on her blog of Jenn Ashworth's brilliant A Kind Of Intimacy

And Jenn's reading in Manchester tomorrow, so get your asses over here.

Finally, my friend Daisy went on an anti-fascist protest march in Bolton yesterday and didn't get arrested.  She's henceforth to be referred to as my 'hardcore friend' Daisy. Word.

1 comment:

Susan Gee said...

I remember feeling the same way when I read the book. You have to put on the Scottish accent while you read. Yer kinnae read it otherwise kin ya?