I Really Was A Terrible Actor. I

Mortified At The Speed With Which Intimacy Evaporates.

You Feel A Little Bit Lost Right Now About What To Do With Your Life, A Bit Rudderless And Oarless And Aimless But That's Okay That's Alright Because We're All Meant To Be Like That At Twenty-four.

I Still Find It Absurdly Difficult To Concentrate On A Novel If There's A Phone Or Computer To Hand; I Have Taken To Locking Them Outside The Room Like Noisy Pets.

I Worry Sometimes That I'm A Bit Moralistic; Always Writing About Men Who Are Learning To Grow Up, Not Be So Self-absorbed, Selfish Or Badly Behaved. I Wonder If That's Dull And Liberal And Wimpy? I Should Probably Write Something That Celebrates Wickedness.

Alice Doesn't Seem To Mind Because She's Laughing Too, And Biting Her Lip, All Doe-eyed, And Tossing Her Freshly Washed Hair, And Norton Tosses His Lovely, Glossy Hair Back, And She Tosses Her Hair In Return, And He Tosses His, And She Tosses Hers, And It;s Like Some Mating Ritual On A Wildlife Program.