Yesterday I moved back in with Marge, who’d kicked me out for a few days. This is because she is a BIG HO. (I think this is how Americans write ‘hoe.’ It makes me laugh a lot more without the E. Do you feel the same?)
Marge isn’t really a BIG HO. She just had another visitor. I mean, she invited me to come over for a week and I decided to come for three, so it’s fair enough.
Anyway, during those BIG HO days, I went and stayed with my chum Lindsey Kelk. She’s a Times top ten bestselling author so I won’t bother telling you what you already know – namely that she is a totally hilarious and very talented writer who writes chicklit that is GENUINELY HILARIOUS rather then vaguely amusing, and somehow manages to combine things like relationships, fashion and families with chat about vaginas, madness and punch-ups. She is King.
And all I have to say in this post, really, is that I loved the backside off Lindsey Kelk during my stay. (I still do; it wasn’t a limited-time offer.) Her walk-in wardrobe is beyond mad (in a good way) and so is her life (in a good way.) She is proper magic. Funny, fun, clever, perceptive, warm, wise, brutally honest and completely fucking ridiculous. A massively talented writer and a lovely girl. With a collection of shoes that would leave you weak. I still can’t believe I allowed her to watch me buying $2.99 flip flops. God.