It was the work party last night, the head chap tried to find somewhere as kitsch as possible for our party so we ended up going to some vast tent thingy that had been decorated in the style of Ancient Egypt. It was gloriously tacky and fantastically hot, which I suppose is quite authentic but does make having a good boogie rather hard work. Still I got home at 1pm and I didn't snog anyone or anything, and I barely thought about being turned down by the party organiser as I was too busy drinking and talking to the fun girls about shoes and hair.
Today is a special day, I had some of my work printed in a magazine, only a tiny thing but it is there and that is what counts. I am going to have to stop shaving as I can call myself a troubled writer now and have interesting hair and smoke little cigars in Soho while talking about the pretences of modern life. I am also glad that my first bit of writing was about Audrey Tautou's pants.
I love Audrey, she is lovely and quirky and French. We would have lazy Saturday mornings reading the papers and feeding each other pastries, she would say something cutting about English fashion because she knows it annoys me and I would tickle her until she collapsed into giggles and relented. Then we would go for a walk along a beach with a slightly naughty dog before stopping in a tiny little tea-house for a cream tea.