I can’t remember if it happened in the December 1992, or 1993. If I was nearly eight, or almost nine. If it was the news at six, or at seven. I was not watching the television, but I was in the room, and it was on. And I didn’t change…

My first novel is published early next year, and I keep finding myself getting embarrassingly, self indulgently obsessed about things that are completely beyond my control. I wrote this to myself, a list of things to remember as an attempt to maintain sanity and equilibrium over the next few months…

Once or twice a month I receive a phone call from Good Morning Britain, asking if I’d like to appear on the programme and take part on a debate. For me, going on television is slightly scarier than going to the dentist’s, and slightly less awful than going through a…

My worst ex boyfriend isn’t the one who took me to a kebab house with all of his pals on Valentine’s day, and then forgot his wallet. He’s not the one who took me to my favourite pub, the one I could see from my bedroom window, and told me…

They called themselves “interns”. We called them “workies”. They would come into the office for two weeks, shy or garrulous, enthusiastic or resentful. I remember the brilliant ones — Sally, who wore home made diaphanous kimonos and asked sweetly phrased existential questions on quiet afternoons, Anita, who rang every PR…

Pitching to posting — How to submit news relevant pieces I’m a freelance journalist and I get asked about how freelancing works, and how I work. Here is a very general step by step guideline that I put together based on a Guardian Masterclass I taught a couple of years…

It’s not an opinion that will find much favour at the end of 2018 — when we all know that paedophilia is wrong, and conspicuous consumerism is much worse — but one of my favourite parts of any novel is Humbert’s shopping trip in Lolita. ‘What little girl wouldn’t like…