Goodness it has been a long time since I wrote anything on this blog. I don't know why - sadly nothing terribly exciting has happened. Ooh - I bought a house, which I'm currently sitting in. My friend Emily and her other friend Amy and I all went on it together. It's pretty weird, tbh. It made a lot of sense (was completely sick of living with my frenemy Sam) and also it's only £500 a month of mortgage (for now, cheers for that Brexit) instead of £1000 in rent. And it's a proper house. With stairs and everything. It is, however, in Norwood. Zone Four. Still London by the skin of its teeth, but Croydon lurks only a few minutes away. We have to do all kinds of work to it (moved in in April) and there's lots of odd bits of furniture. It can be rather lonely as the other two are away quite a lot, but the idea is to sell it in a couple of years, and in the meantime we all have a bit more freedom. Am currently in the dining room. The Dining Room. It leads out to the Patio. It's weird. But nice to be able to have the piano.

About to try and head out to a film club on my own. Sad state of Norwood affairs involving a rat called Terry, a house I bought with a friend who then had the temerity to find an immediate and very serious boyfriend. She's doing her best, but essentially I've ended up living semi-alone in a suburban house with four bedrooms on the outskirts of London, almost in Croydon, with a potential rat problem and a near-certainty that I'm never going to have sex again. On the plus side, the mortgage is only £500 a month so, there's that.

I have decided that I'm no longer going to be this sad and alonely. 2017 is going to be a better year. Yes, the friendship situation is not ideal at present - pretty much every nightmare I've ever had on the ex front has come true in glorious, technicolour, intelligent, blue-sequinned form, but I work with some nice people. And we can sell the house in a year or so hopefully. Also now I know how to re-pressurise a boiler. And sand things. Although power tools remain a terrifying, surprisingly heavy mystery, I'm adulting all over the place. Everything's coming up adult. And yes that is about as depressing and frightening as it sounds. My father... He's still suffering from PSP. It is not a nice disease. My mother is unhappy and angry but not wanting to really understand how much that is the case. My brother's going travelling in about a week and a half for six months, which I'm disgustingly jealous of, but do get to go and visit him, which will be fun.

Most of all, I am not going to allow the horribleness of 2016 to defeat me, or all the scary things about the world, both Trump and Brexit, and much more selfishly the rubbishness of being very, very single at 32 when it is cold and wintery and all your friends and your general life in London feel very far away.

capers

Made a ham, courgette, garlic and basil salad tonight - it was pretty delicious. Had a ham broth from cooking the ham yesterday, cut the courgette very thin and added loads of lemon juice and also fresh coriander. Then heated up the jellified stock and put a dollop of the salad in the middle. Oddly, the final part made it come together: cherry tomatoes. Next time I should definitely leave out the capers though - there's just something about the little green bastards I find really hard to resist.

Sat downstairs in our living room watching a bit of Archer, having just sent off some thoughts about a book that, realistically, we're probably not going to promote very much. Eugh, I MUST LEAVE THIS JOB. Soon, I'll not be able to speak without automatically seguing into '...hugely enthusiastic and we see great potential, however unfortunately I'm not able to offer a lot of money upfront.' Gah.

I'm a bit stuck still, to be honest. I'm semi-dating a man I don't really fancy. Well, to be honest I definitely don't fancy him, but he's quite nice. The only person I actually feel something for has a girlfriend (though he did try to kiss me on Saturday night while very very drunk, so perhaps it's not just me). Being thirty, frankly, not all it's cracked up to be. Also, I've not had sex for over a year. A YEAR. *sigh, I can't tell who I fancy because realistically it's, well, everyone. :(

Now I am 30

Called in sick today owing to evil period pains and just generally feeling completely exhausted. This weekend was my 30th birthday party, organised by the lovely Lucy. It was so nice of her but I admit I actually found it really, really stressful, partly cos I could see she was stressed and partly cos I always find birthdays hard. She hired a rowing boat to take me to  a picnic! It was amazing, so sweet, but I felt a bit embarrassed - when we organised things for her it was because she was getting married. I'm just turning 30, which is slightly less exciting all round, if we're being honest. It ended at a supperclub, which was hilarious - the most disorganised chef I've ever met, but lovely food. However the star of the evening was certainly the hostess - wildly, wildly inappropriate, groped everyone (including my brother), stole the cream obscenely from my dessert (hrrrghh), invited some people back to her house, invited someone else to a tranvestite party, gave my poor, very reserved friend a 'beard massage' (at least as creepy as it sounds) and offered me cocaine. It was quite spectacular for a single evening's work. 

Now I'm 30 and need to make some decisions about the following:

1) What  do I want to do? Not happy in my current job. VOLUNTEER and have a think about where you can go next

2) Dating. Do it. Join Guardian soulmates tomorrow. 

3) Find a challenge: creative writing course or choir (trying choir on Thursday)

4) Save up for a place of your own

Took myself to dinner this evening as reward for getting through the day of period pains. It was a bit expensive but amazing, amazing food. L'Entranger, with this menu: http://www.etranger.co.uk/royal-albert-hall-prepost-theatre-menu/. The  steak tartare... god. It was amazing. Slow cooked yolk on top, this unbelievable, truffley, cheesy 'caesar dressing' (was more like puree), crispy, soft polenta chips, a pickle sorbet/cream thing, all the pickles and onions in gorgeous rows next to the steak... god it was good.  Oh, and the mandarin and coffee creme brulee with white chocolate ice-cream was to die for. I don't mean that metaphorically, I actually think I'd die for it. Or at least kill someone I didn't like very much for it. Sharp, creamy, bitter, sweet...I moaned a bit when I first ate it and had to reign it in as I was already the crazy lady on her own in the corner of the restaurant with the black stain on her top (still don't know where that was from, but I had been wandering round London attempting to accomplish several chores without success).

Now I'm going to watch the next episode of the superb Orange is the New Black (the main lesbian couple just FINALLY  got together, which was pretty exciting, though only plotwise, which shows me again how completely and unfortunately straight I am. I think I'd be much better at picking up women, so it's a shame.  

NYC

New York is exhausting, but incredible. I have no money left, but finding it hard to care. It's been about 10 days now. Spent the first week in hefty agent/editor meetings, which were extremely useful for the most part,, and terrifying occasionally. Sometimes I manage to forget how much publishing is about knowing the right people and (probably the reason why I forget this) how few of the right people I know. Worse than that even, sometimes I know the right people but don't know they're the right people. My favourite editor, the wonderful CZ, turns out to be horribly senior. I know that's sort of good, but then I become aware that it's good and it somehow turns our friendship a bit sour. I will sum up the meetings but now I am very tired, in my amazing tree/time themed room at the Carlton Arms Hotel (google it immediately, anyone reading, then book a flight to NY and come and ogle all the artwork. Until about five minutes ago, a cat was also sharing my bedroom with me. I love this place. Today I have...

 - Gone for brunch in Park Slope, Brooklyn - I had pastrami salmon (I know - weird in conception and if I'm honest, underwhelming in execution - there's probably a reason pastrami seasoning is used on beef not fish) and some excellent filter coffee.
 - Taken a load of books to the salon where I had my nails done a couple of days ago (I know, how Legally Blonde am I? Still fail to bend and snap though). Turned out my nail lady was a psychology student, and I was reading one of the books various agents had given me. Finished it while I was there and offered it around - I couldn't carry it home and it's quite a good book (SE Phillips being moving and funny as usual). The first lady was visibly confused, but the student got incredibly, gloriously excited - books are apparently very expensive in NY and she was overwhelmed to have an HB for free. I said I had lots of others (more agent submissions that I've now read) and that I'd bring them to her if she'd like - it was very nice to see somebody get so incredibly happy over books again - it's sometimes very easy to forget that books can still do that to people.
 - Bought a beautiful vintage scarf and got M&M a boardgame as thanks
 - Got the subway to Carlton Arms and claimed my room (they let you pick from whatever they've got so you can choose your favourite artwork)
 - Went to the MoMath (I know! It was a MATHS MUSEUM!!) So cool, very sadly only got there for the last half an hour so missed loads, but basically loads of really cool exhibits and games. Did rather miss the ex as he'd have loved it so, so much and been able to actually do the games, but it was still really fun.
 - Went to a scary bar, was about to pay 16 dollars for a cocktail in a place that charged 15 for 'carrot tartare' and called salt 'saline' when thankfully Maisie texted and I left the bar of overly-priced-shit for an abortive attempt to get to yoga
 - Ended up (somehow) in the Museum of Sex instead. Very enlightening. Not sexy, sadly. Did you know there's a slug that has a penis larger than its own body? After sex, the female eats the penis of the male. Sometime the male eats its own penis, just for fun. The penis does not grow back. I didn't know that until now either, and I was ok with my ignorance. There was, however, a rather fascinating, if grimily titillating exhibit on Linda Lovelace. Rather infuriating to watch the smug male pornstar glowing with life and satisfaction (short of wearing a massive billboard announcing 'I have hit the male jackpot!!  I get paid for sex! Yes! You understand me, my massive 70's moustache and my shouty billboard correctly! We actually get PAID for people to touch our penis' there was nothing he could have done to make the matter clearer) talking gleefully about Linda's difficulties and watching her downfall and general victimisation. Why must women (generally) feel so soiled and men so triumphant after having sex with many people? Bees indeed, hush The King and I.
 - Decided to go on a mini-Japanese trek - tried three different restaurants - highlights were white tuna (no idea, didn't think it existed), some amazing salmon roe, some tuna sashimi, and the crispy bits of a grilled squid. Nothing completely brilliant, though which was a shame. Lowlights were the tuna I'm sure had been frozen then defrosted and Tom, the rather-too-hands-on 57yr old drunk Italian man, who apparently is 'haunted' by Jewish women and who asked my age and length of holiday time twice, with different reactions each time.

Had intended jazz or comedy, but after probably a bit too much sake, realised I basically wanted to come back, lie on my bed and watch the third episode of Broadchurch. If anyone asks, I'm enjoying the awesome jazz quartet I'd looked up at Smalls jazz club. The thing is, going to things on your own in the evening is oddly tiring - think you have to really be in the mood. Everything's loud and the attention you most easily get isn't usually the kind you want.

RWA, romance, work trip, rant, will not win this one

So, after the delightful outpouring of a few weeks ago, I'm now in the US (no, I didn't run away). I had a meet up with the ex as he had insisted, which was dangerously nice, only to go to a wedding on Saturday and watch him meet somebody new. Things rather devolved after that, with much drunken crying on my side and an unfortunate bit of pointy-fingered 'you shat on me from a great height' and 'what was wrong with me' which is still, along with the image of the other girl's beautiful voice and black halterneck dress, waking me up occasionally at nights with a shudder. Anyway, it's done, dignity is unfortunately lost, and I remember, once again and hopefully for the last time, that I need to not see him. There is no good end to this, he doesn't know why he stopped trying but he does want to talk about how sad that is, I don't know why I changed what I wanted from him or why I put up with being treated nastily or why I keep being tempted back there in spite of EVERY BIT OF EVIDENCE showing that it doesn't work - being with him makes me miserable. The problem is dealing with that and understanding that it doesn't mean I'm worthless, or even not as good/cool/complete as him. I am a good person. Kind, intelligent, occasionally thoughtless and rude but basically well-intentioned and I can read very fast indeed. I'm just terribly frightened that I'll not get over him in time, that I'll just keep wondering why, if he's so sad (or was so sad) he didn't try to get me back. Even though I honestly believe that we aren't right for each other and if he had asked me I would have said no. Probably. I don't know because I can't actually imagine it happening, but I just really, really wanted the bit where he humbled himself at my feet and said what a total dick he was and could we start again and I said no. We've come close, but mostly he's just angry and resentful 'you told me I was a dick for two years' (he has a point) and then worse, on Saturday, being kind to me, 'yes, I did get her number. I'm sorry'. Oh Anna. Please stop this now. You weren't happy with him. I can't win this one and I have to let it go.

Huh. Just took a break from the rant and did something else and do immediately feel better. It's so strange but I think a good sign. Just keep remembering: you are better without him and you are a good, strong person. I think a week in San Antonio, a place where people use the term 'self-actualisation' without irony and with a z might be getting to me. Speaking of...

I'm on a work trip, my first ever, and have just finished a Texas conference.  My last night tonight, so I've had most of the day off, apart from an author lunch, and have explored a bit more (well, at all, as previous expeditions have been limited to finding restaurants for  authors). I went to see the Alamo, which was rather underwhelming as it's basically a garden and several stone walls, but they did show us an adorably earnest 1990s Historical Channel film, all 'there is no documented evidence for this event, but wasn't it awesome!!'), then went to Mexico market, which was fun, had a margherita at a famous bar, bought a street taco and watched a small boy fall off a rodeo bull, cheered on by his whole family.

San Antonio is a strange place - I wasn't keen at first as it seemed like it had taken all of its very interesting history and turned it into Disneyland (most of the conference is around a very strange area involving three different malls and a fake, bright blue river with terrible, shouting restaurants everywhere and pan flutes). Everything is scarily clean and they have 'tourist police' everywhere, who accost you the moment you might look even slightly unsure, 'Do you all need assistance ma'am?' Plus, the combo of the stifling, unbelievably humid heat and the freezing air conditioning is odd, and the food is incredibly Southern - a lot of cheese on everything, even/especially the salads. But the people are lovely, very warm indeed and after a while their friendliness, the heat and the immense portion sizes make sense - San Antonio is a generous, gracious, genuinely warm place and they're determined to keep it that way. I think that's something to be respected, particularly when it's compared to London's 'prove your commitment to us by staying here and paying obscene rent while we all ignore you, until one day you too want to stab people who stand on the wrong side of the escalator.' I'm pretty reluctant to go to New York actually, feels like stepping back into all the stress!
 
I promised myself I'd at least note down what I've  done as otherwise my  horrible memory will blank it out and replace it with vague wisps of emotion within a week. It's been exciting, though occasionally lonely (mostly people are there with others from their publishers) however being on my own has, I think, been extremely good for me. I always feel most myself when travelling and wondering around is just fantastic, when not late/too lost!

Tuesday eve - got in around 7.30 and went straight out to meet JQ, who is as effervescent and delightful and intelligent as her books indicate. She's tough though, in the way of authors who are famous and have had to get used to being courted. Ate an excellent steak in a strange place called Hotel Havana. Two mojitos down I stopped making any sense when the jet lag hit, but overall think it went well.

Wednesday - hmm. Finding this worryingly hard to recall. Ah yes, this was my weirdest day I think - fewest meetings and no idea really where to go! First entrance into the Rivercentre, a fairly vile conference centre hotel. Sudden transferral from sauna to fridge was a little off-putting, but met lovely blonde and pregnant agent who has some thoroughly good books and is just quite a generally cheery person to kick off the morning with (unlike Thursday's meeting, which was more like a gauntlet with excellent eggs at the end). Then took lovely author to lunch in a cafe, delightful and new and sweet and GMW's first acquisition. Lovely and long chat about the magnificent Tiffany Reisz and my first discovery of rubber  cheese on salads. Then met a conference legend, let's call her the conference godmother. She knows everyone and meeting with her was like being allowed into an exclusive (and reassuringly jewish) hall of fame. Then came back, bit dead, visited Havana again for food and tried to order light (crab salad and tomato soup). The salad was covered in vinegar and cheese to a quite incredible extent but the soup was extraordinary - so thick with cream that when I turned the spoon upside down it stayed put... Not my most successful of meals, tbh. Came back to an oddly large and quiet room that I'm now totally used to and never want to leave (what, live without a balcony and a river? Are you mad?)

Thursday - morning gauntlet. Very rewarding and not just because of the yummy breakfast but because the NY agent in question knows Everything. She was fascinating, terrifying and exhilarating. I felt like we ended up by getting on, but the jury's out as to how much this was helped by my walking over an air vent on the way back to the hotel in a short dress and having my very own Marilyn Monroe moment. Unfortunately I didn't react with the requisite 'oh dear me' and modest holding down of skirt but panicked, raised my arms and showed the world my assets. It was spectacular and I don't think the agent stopped laughing for the next three blocks, except for the bit when she complemented me on my underwear. JAK for lunch, which was awesome - she's thin and powerful. Amazon are picking her brains. Skipped out of an agent party and went to meet the lovely Laura - a San Antonio local who had offered help in finding my way around. Had far too many cocktails at an amazing bar, and started to slightly fall  in love with San Antonio. Ate a solitary steak while being flirted with at the bar (in Texas my attractiveness appears to have been magically increased - an English accent and being less than a size 20 are powerful weapons, it appears). Jo and Bryony in the evening, mourned Kiss but excellent to see them.

Friday (god this is boring, this is why I'm a rubbish diary writer) - the Pitches of Doom. They'd double booked me 15 times (system fail) so had authors pitch stories at me for hours. I don't understand pitching. It doesn't matter how nice (or otherwise) they are - until I've read what they've written it's basically all just noise. I also had the worst pitch of my life - phallus-phobia lady. Intense eyes, total commitment to her own insanity and a healthy dose of paranoia. She was special. Missed drinks with an agent who still hasn't replied to my grovels (oops) and then took KC out for dinner - another lovely author and the best food of all (any visitors to San Antonio - go to Bella on the River, it's fab). Watermelon, feta and cucumber salad with truffle oil and some gorgeous halibut. Very sexy author, oddly, I found myself with a faint crush, I think owing to the piles of strawberry blonde hair - I suspect i just never got over Nancy Drew.

Sat - an awkward breakfast with Forever, then EJ and the nicest chat of all. What a wonderfully intelligent, lovely lady, who then gave an amazing speech at the prize giving. Completely in love. Also, she sort of looks like Helen Hunt. Mediocre hotel dinner (gah, breadcrumbs on chickenwings gah) and then awkward prize giving. Very, very weird not having a publisher to sit with! my lovely editor friend did invite me, to be fair, but it was strange not having edited any of these authors - I miss so much being the primary editor - feel like I have given up the heart of my job. Though I suppose it does mean that I get to hold the fun lunches rather than the

Today - Alamo (as said)  and STUPENDOUS art gallery that I forgot to mention. Latino art, absolutely spectacular.

Right. I am exhausted and have to get up in five(ish) hours for the very early flight, and haven't packed or paid the hotel bill. Tis time to go. Till next time, internet.