Emma Freud is my new best friend. It is official. She may not actually know she is my new best friend, but we had such a fantastic time at her bonkers supper club where the guests (me included) responded to her tweet inviting interesting strangers, that I have decided, and once I have decided, it’s a certainty.
The supper club truly was entirely bonkers. We arrived at an amazing brownstone in downtown Manhattan. Emma Freud’s other half, Richard Curtis, opened the door and we had a very nice small-talky chat about being English in New York, when Emma, extraordinarily tiny and clad in an apron, swooped over and enveloped us both in giant hugs.
Our relatively little town of Westport, Connecticut is abuzz with talk of a new television series, now tentatively titled “American Housewife,” but originally titled: “The Second Fattest Housewife in Westport.”
The trailer is now on You Tube. Amongst other things, they refer to the children in the town of Westport, Connecticut as “money-obsessed brats,” the town is called “hoity-toity,” and apparently in Westport, Connecticut “you can’t be too rich, too thin…”
I have to confess that our friends are, on the whole, a pretty fabulous bunch. When we do have parties, everyone leaves saying how lovely everyone was, and I think, yes, that’s because I am almost pathologically selective about who is in my inner circle and, subsequently, at our parties. (more…)
I walked into my closet yesterday and very quickly walked back out. I have been doing this a lot recently. I am extremely talented at acquiring new things, and terrible at getting rid of the old. Every square inch is crammed, mostly with things I haven’t even looked at for two years, let alone worn.
It does not help that I have clothes in my closet ranging from size 2 to size 12. Every now and then I pull out a size 2 pair of jeans and start laughing, for they seem so terribly tiny, but then I put them back, because one day… one day… I just might get into them again. (more…)
I have just lost the last two weeks of my life. Nothing terrible happened, other than that I discovered Game of Thrones two weeks ago, and I have not been able to do anything until after I managed to squeeze five years of programming into two weeks.
It was something of a feat. I would wake up and watch a quick couple of episodes (they’re only short – around an hour each), sit at my desk and do some work, before spending a couple of happy hours during the mid-afternoon slump. I would then announce I was going up to bed early, only to spend a good three or four hours watching in bed. (more…)
I am not a big fan of Twitter. I was, when it first started. I became completely obsessed, and after a while found myself standing slightly on the outside of my life, as if looking through the lens of a 140-character quote that could manage to be witty, warm, pithy and wise.
Until a few years ago when I found myself the subject of another’s Twitter rant, and the level of vitriol and nastiness was so unpleasant, it scared me off Twitter altogether. Now, I have linked my Facebook and Twitter, so whenever I write something on Facebook, it automatically appears on Twitter, but I rarely look at it, only when I get alerts and respond to someone. (more…)
A few years ago I had lunch with a former agent who said she had been going through something of a tough time where she had suddenly realized she had hit middle age, and was attempting to come to terms with her mortality.
I nodded sympathetically, but had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
Last month, having been plagued with all sorts of “Lady Problems” for rather a long time, my doctor finally said there was no alternative but to have a hysterectomy.
I don’t like being anything less than Superwoman. Anything less than invincibility makes me feel vulnerable and weak, and nothing is worse than being vulnerable and weak. (more…)
Rupert who? I hear you ask. Rupert Holmes! He sang (and wrote) Escape.
Escape? I hear you ask. Never heard of it. I shall jog your memory with one line from the chorus: ‘If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.’
I happen to know Rupert Holmes. When not writing the catchiest tunes of the last century, Rupert keeps himself busy writing novels (among many other things). A couple of years ago Rupert and I found ourselves as guests of the Literary Festival From Hell.
Jane Green is the author of seventeen novels, including sixteen New York Times bestsellers. She has over ten million books in print, and is published in over 25 languages.Full Bio