Bzzzz...

Well, the good news this week is that these lovely people in the Netherlands have bought my book. Yes, the exploits of Nora and Grace shall be translated into Dutch. I am most excited to share a publisher with my old fave, Virginia Woolf, hurrah!

Mon dieu

Some people, when they’re feeling miserable, fixate on raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Stuff and nonsense! This afternoon I took my snivelling self out of the sunshine and into the depths of the Renoir Cinema, stopping only to dash into a corner shop for a mini-bottle of cheap red wine. I sank into a nice velvet chair, and settled in for an afternoon of the Nouvelle Vague.

No-one does misery like the French. I’ve loved Truffaut’s Les Quatre Cent Coups since I was a teenager, when I would close the curtains and slump in front of the VHS videoplayer for entire afternoons at a time, emerging only for light snacks and to moan about the unfairness of being born in a small village in the Lake District instead of the Left Bank.

I can safely say, that as the level in the mini-bottle sank, and I ran out of tissues, I was as gripped as I was all those years ago. Poor old world. Poor old Antoine Doinel. Poor old moi. Quel cafard!

I came out an hour and a half later thoroughly refreshed. There’s nothing like seeing the misery of a teenager to put your problems in perspective. Especially a French one.

More compulsory fun en famille

It was with a mild sense of foreboding that I caught the train on Friday up to the Lake District for my mother’s 60th birthday party.

The two things she hates most in life: surprises + references to ageing.

So my sister decided to throw her a bit of a do, pretending that it was a housewarming party and inviting the entire family plus hangers on.

Dad and I have been sweating lightly for months.

The day dawns, beautifully spring-like, at which point Mum orders Dad to single-handedly lift 6 sofas into a trailer to take to my sister’s house so we can sit outside in comfort. Pre-saturated with guilt, he doesn’t put up a fuss.

I drive off into town in search of champagne (miraculously turns any nasty shock into a celebration).

Before we set off for my sister's, I ask Mum if she’s going to get changed out of jeans and walking boots. ‘No,’ she says, defensively, ‘I’ll be picking up small children all day. I need to be comfortable.’

We arrive and arrange sofas in garden. Throw sheets over tables and find fold-up chairs. It all looks, as Sicily would say, delightfully bucolic.


Dad and I are somewhat tense as Sally began to sing Happy Birthday. But we deal with it by handing Mum a bottle of champagne IMMEDIATELY. Followed by a baby.


She doesn't kill anyone, although she looks scary with a knife in her hand.


Although the first thing she says is ‘Why didn’t you make me change my shirt?’

I take a deep breath and wander off with Bruno to look at what he likes to call the Lamborghinis.


Then watch him play with a mallet. Everyone scoffs when I mildly suggest this might dangerous.


By the end of the afternoon we have moved the sofas around 5 times to follow the sun. I have talked nicely to Uncle Geoffrey about his days in the Raj. Again. The adults in the family have slid into louche drinking behaviour and are neglecting their young.


Next day, everyone decides that the best way to conquer hangovers is to go for a jolly walk. I am assured it’s not very far, and even Bruno is going to walk it.

We go halfway up Scafell Pike, the highest mountain in England.


At which point my sister and I lie down and refuse to go any further.


Lady V was born in the Lake District in 1973. She lives in London.

Inhale and..... relax

As I’m not drinking at the moment, I welcome any opportunity to relax in other ways.

I’m wondering if this new installation by Bompas & Parr, the creators of Scratch and Sniff Cinema (now there’s a thought, Le Duc, hmm?) is allowed or not?

Alcoholic Architecture is the UK’s first walk-in cocktail – a bar in Soho filled with a mist of gin and tonic that you inhale. About 40 minutes is enough to give you a mild buzz.

Snorting gin. I knew it was one of those things that would come to me sooner or later.

I shall be taking The Quiet American and The Italian Stallion when they are next in town. Those boys will appreciate this, I know.