The East End Literary Salon

I wrote a little play for this wonderful new night starting on Sunday 7th September...it'll be the first time something that I have written will be read out by someone OTHER than myself. If you're in London do come along and hold my hand - I am ever so nervous that it won't come across the way I wrote it or it sounded in my head...

Notes from dreamland

I am in love with London; it's like this hidden part of me is coming back to life and flowering with every step I take in the thick, smog-covered air. Kissing the pavements. It's obvious really; I am a big city girl at heart, a gypsy by birth, no real home and the big city lights on my face as I wonder through the streets do nothing but fuel the fires in my heart. I don't sleep; I can never sleep, but at least now those endless hours are filled with reems and reems and reems of words. I never thought I'd be so inspired by sitting on a bus; it makes me wonder why I ever left. I'm a scream of hot-red writing fire, and I apply for everything I can get my hands on. I will scream and scream and scream until someone takes notice, then I will scream some more until the stars fall out of the sky.

Too many highlights to mention. Lunch at Mildreds, drinking in Garlic and Shots, Adam Ant on stage suddenly at Aces and Eights, an all dayer and all-night conversations about feminism and cats. So much breakfast. Joanne Joanne. A dog on the roof. Dinner by candlelight in a soon to be abandoned car park.

The unknown poetry of the world. My secrets at the Southbank, in an exhibition for all to see. Love, in it's many forms, our love, the old terrible thing I thought would only strike me once shown off and immortalised for everyone to see. In a way it's done the one thing I never managed with my words, it's there, but below glass, it's art and it's not our secret any more - everyone knows.

From my little balcony I can see for miles and miles and miles in each direction. Across to the river or back, north, up to the place I was born. I've made a little haven of it; I sit out at night swaddled in my giant blankets reading my horror stories. I have found a slice of peace in the middle of north London. I talk to the ghosts in the building and I cast the love spells of the generations of women before me and I am the calm little centre of the universe.

Tomorrow I set off to dance in a field for three and a half days.

Lost lights, big city, feels like home.

Stories to Make You Nervous has now run off to the big city to find her fortune amidst the chaos and hubbub of London. I stroll between everyone. I have my kitty and my fish and record player. The charity shops are full of designer clothes and the health food shops are stacked up with tofu, and the library is across the green on the corner of the street. Bliss. It's all a girl needs.

Last night I drunk gin from a teapot with an old friend then went and danced in a dark corner of a room whilst the beautiful boys in make-up sold me their hearts over the microphone; then we wondered home, and just the sight of Kings Cross and the buzz of the city at midnight had me unravelling on the pavement. Right there in the heart of me, every time I get back I feel like kissing the ground. It's good I was with someone who got it.

I fell through the unforgiving lights of the tube back to my new room at the top of a converted mansion, fairy-lights, fake flowers and DVDs everywhere. Bookshelf feels like home. I can see the London Eye from my bedroom; I drifted off to sleep and I spoke to the ghosts in the building all night; they're friendly, you've got no need to worry.

...into the night...

Hello and welcome to the new blog! Here you will find rantings....ravings....short stories and other little treasures of joy to fall out of my brain...

Enjoy!

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