I often think of myself, smugly, as a cork. You can push a cork under water but once you let it go, up it bounces, cheerful as ever. That’s me.
But even a cork sinks if you tie enough stones to it (or shove it in a bottle full of sand). Right now, my five year friendship with a man I once loved has sunk irretrievably, I feel exiled (by my own choice, let it be said) from my country home, I’m devoid of creative spark, and I feel, literally, poor.
Ironically, I’m currently writing a book of recipes, for food and for life: perhaps my flagship recipe should be ‘Idiot Stew, and how to make it (tip: it tastes best in hindsight). I’m also writing the sequel to my gothic spoof, Lady Charlotte’s Dilemma – and that kind of depresses me, because I wish I was writing War and Peace. And I wish I was home.
What is it they say? This, too, shall pass. I know it will.
In the meantime, maybe I’ll amuse myself writing a collection of sour love stories…of which The Plate will be one.